


Where the Road Then Takes Me

by mephestopheles



Series: Interludes of My Still Beating Heart [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Typical Violence, Canon has been slow roasted @ 225 and carved for juicy bits, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Politics, F/F, F/M, Gen, Gender politics, Homophobia, Implied Mpreg, LGBTQ+ characters, M/M, Magic, Mpreg, Other, Quest fic, Rule 63, Trans Character, Trans man Bilbo, Trans man Kili, Transphobia, Violence, Worldbuilding, non cis mpreg, trope flips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-05-04 22:43:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 72,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5351141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mephestopheles/pseuds/mephestopheles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since he found out his One was killed, Thorin has blamed hobbits. Hobbits are petty, small minded and behind that politesse, cruel. With each year that passes that he cannot fulfill the promise he made to his One, Thorin blames them a little more. He's tired of being thwarted by the council, tired of the rumours of madness and he feels desperate. Desperate enough to accept the help of weed smoking wizard and her hobbit agent. </p><p>Ever since he returned to the Shire, Bilbo Baggins has hated hobbits. He drinks his tea, wears his weskit, and does what he can to help those like himself, while fighting against attitudes that haven't changed in eighteen years. He doesn't think about the letters in his glory box, nor the dagger collecting dust in his study. And he most certainly doesn't think about dwarves, not even when a weed smoking wizard comes by asking him to go on adventure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tharkhudammamâ

**Author's Note:**

> So it's finally here, at long last we're at the sequel to [Interludes of my Still Beating Heart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3791941/chapters/8440945). I've been teasing about this fic for a while and I can't even believe I got here myself. 
> 
> FIRST A BIG THANK YOU TO [Striving-Artist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/StrivingArtist). She's been the best beta, the best cheerleader, the best friend I've ever had. And trust me, without her this fic wouldn't be what it is. I like big ideas, she helped them make sense. To everyone in Daps chat, you guys have been listening to me yell and torment and freak out about this fic so long. Thank you. You guys are truly fantastic. 
> 
> Now to the fic stuff. This fic is an even deeper look into the world I started in Interludes, there are lgbtq+ characters, rule 63'd characters. There's going to be mentions of transphobia, homophobia and misogyny throughout the story, I will warn per chapter for specific instances, but it's best to keep that in mind in throughout the fic. There's going to be violence both canon typical, magical and typical of the movie. If it ever becomes more graphic I will add the archive warning and I will also make a note of it here in the notes to give you all a heads up. As with anything I write, please, let me know if I haven't tagged for something. I don't ever want to trigger someone, so if I'm missing a tag or you need one let me know. 
> 
> This is fic is big one. 50 chapters is a ballpark. I will have also have a list of Khuzdul at the end of each chapter that needs it.

**Tharkhudammamâ**

 

Deep under the ancient cities of the dwarves lay a cavern. Carved from the bedrock, it was set with detailed engravings and sacred glyphs. These places, hidden down in the deep of their Mountain homes were present in each of the dwarven kingdoms, from Khazad-dum all the way to the Orocani in the Far East. They were entrances, and as with all dwarven engineering they were a marvel of technology and magic.

An honour guard stood at the entrance to the cavern. No outsider, not even another dwarf, was allowed to enter unless under strict guidance. Dain II Ironfoot, Son of Nain entered the cavern as the light from the torches shimmered against the metal and gem inlays that covered the walls and floor.

He and his retinue stood in front of a door four times the size of a dwarf and wide enough that a phalanx of infantry could walk abreast when opened. It was inscribed with ancient Khuzdul, the first iteration of their most secret language. Each rune was gilt with silver, mithril, or gold, then studded with gems.

In the center of the door was an ancient glyph for magic. It was small, barely wider than the flat of his hand, dull grey, and etched smooth by time. Dain raised his sword hand. With a knife in his opposite, he sliced the skin of his palm and began the ancient song to activate the magic in his blood.

Magic has long been assumed to be the purview of the Elves, the Istari, and those beings blessed by the Valar. Dwarves and other races were not thought to possess magic. It was believed that dwarves found their magical objects, or had their crafts imbued with the sorcery of the elves. Dwarves possessed their own magic. It was just as secret as their language and their laws. It was a part of who they were and how they worked with the stone. Some had more magic than others. Any dwarrow worth their salt had stone sense, but that was just the tip of it.

The true magic of the dwarves was in their blood. Formed from stone and carved by the tools of Mahal, the blood that thrummed through dwarven veins held the song of all its ancestors. None more surely and completely than the great House of Durin.

Dain’s blood pooled in the palm of his hand. Amidst the deep crimson were rivulets of silver, mithril, and gold. Pearls of bronze, platinum, and pewter glistened and danced to the surface. Called forth by the sacred ground he stood upon.

In the quiet of the chamber Dain began to sing. A deep vibration began in his chest and rumbled through his extremities until the blood in his hand rippled with each syllable. The metals present in his blood, the very threads that tied him to the line of Durin stirred as he sang.

As the song reached its crescendo he opened his palm and released the blood into the stone. It poured down in a thin stream of red, silver, gold and bronze and when it touched the sigil, the stones and gems shone with an inner light.

There was a reason Blue was the colour of Durin. It shone in the stones around the chamber as the symbol filled with his blood. With each beat of his heart and each breath he gave to the song he squeezed another drop of blood until the cut on his hand sealed itself in a fine red line. The very stones shook and dust fell from the lintel. The blood followed the grooves in the floor and up to the door, wending its way through the labyrinthine markings. The door groaned and shuddered as it shifted from its moorings and opened the way to the Tharkhudammamâ.

Torches sparked with flame on either side of the wide carved road, lighting their path. Dain sheathed his small blade and hopped onto his war pig.

“All right you lot, it’s a long way to the Blue Mountains, let’s a get a move on.”

Tharkhudammamâ were carved when Middle Earth was still young, in the days when Durin I and his kin carved Khazad-dum from the earth. Durin wanted to connect all the mountains of Middle earth, from the Blue Mountains in the West to the Orocani far to the east. Mosaics and engravings lined the walls and the ceiling stretched on forever into darkness. These Ways were as much a part of the Middle Earth as they are apart from it. They occupied the in-between and were rife with dwarven magic.

The roads were cracked now, broken and decaying from lack of use and upkeep. The loss of Khazad dum and Gundabad in the Second Age, and the loss of Erebor nearly two centuries ago had left them unstable without anchors. Very few used the old roads or had access to them.

Dain Ironfoot, Lord of the Iron Hills was one of the few dwarf lords that could handle the roads himself. The magic had been passed down from his mother. Other clans required an oracle with decades of training to achieve travel through the tharkhudammamâ. Not even his cousin had such easy access, a failing of Thrain’s in not passing it along to Thorin in time. It would take them three days at most to reach the Blue Mountains, provided there were no new obstacles or broken paths.

Travel in the Tharkhudammamâ was different than travel outside. When everything was magic, distance and time had their own meanings. It was Dain’s job to maintain his focus on their destination, he had to know the roads and their turns and which direction to take his party. Dain had to travel the route in his head as much as he had to travel it with his feet. He could not sleep, and he could not be swayed from his goal.

Dain could offer only small instruction to his second in command; his wife. But all other decisions had to come from her; if there was violence on the road, Rikka had to be ready for it. And the Roads were not safe. Centuries ago they may have been secret pathways, safe from the taint of evil. But now, even after Morgoth and Sauron had been destroyed, an evil had spread. Dark things crept unchecked along the Tharkhudammamâ.

Each step he took lit the way in the blackness, the road came into view a hundred feet in front of them. The rest was shrouded in fog, a grey, thick mist that settled around everything just out of his sight.

He felt the pull of the Blue Mountains in his blood, but it was weak; weaker than he expected. The magic was tied to the stone but also the minerals and metals found within it: the gold, the silver, and the iron that were lodged deep within the bedrock. Now, it was hard to feel his goal.  Other entrances along the pathways he could feel. Erebor shone like a beacon, but its way was sealed, shut tight on this side and required magic to open that he wasn’t privy too.

Moria and Gundabad, old dwarven homes they had been ousted from were wreathed in inky blackness. He shied away from those, turned his attention to the faint outlines of the Blue Mountains in the distance. In the mist of the Tharkhudammamâ he led the retinue on. Dain’s awareness stretched across the plain, mapping each twist and turn, calling out directions and obstacles he sensed on the paths ahead. He could feel each brick, each engraving, each piece of gem, mineral, and metal that had been used to fashion the Tharkhudammamâ, knew their histories, felt their creation.

It was nearing the close of the second day when he felt it, the shift and change in the plane. Dain should have felt the gentle give and thinning of the Mist around the entrance to the Blue Mountains. But the closer they came to where it should be the harder it was for him to find it.

“DAIN!” Dain felt a breath of cold air and the spray of water against his cheek. Rikka grabbed hold of his shoulder and he felt the arms of his son grab hold as both pulled him back.

“What is it?” He asked. He continued to cast his mind and magic around for the entrance, but there was nothing but a faint hum, a thready pulse from the sigils.

“There’s nothing Dain. The road ends. Can you not see it?” Rikka took hold of his face, and though he was blind to her in this place he pressed his forehead against hers. He could feel her shaking. Whatever she saw, it scared her.

“Rikka, the entrance is blocked. I cannot make a connection to it. Rock I could sense, this is something else. I do not know what’s going on but we cannot reach them this way.”

“Emyn Uial is close is it not? We can make for that entrance. Build your shields, husband.” She said. He could feel the press of her lips against his temple. “We will get to the old fortress, and there you shall rest.”

“Bah. I’m fit as anything. You and the others will have to keep up with me.” He pushed from her grip and strode back towards whence they came, calling up his memory and finding the beacon of Emyn Uial.

 

*

There was change in the air. Olórin could feel it, taste it, sense it, but never grasp it. It was not her role to see things as if looking upon a still pond. No, her role was to see the shadows that were cast. To glimpse change in eddies at the edge of a lake.

She had felt such change several times in her long life. In long years before the elves started to count the ages she watched cataclysms shape and mould Middle Earth. She heard the whispers of the War of Wrath in the air. She fought and railed and schemed to bring forth the good in Middle Earth. For as long as Manwë was Lord of the Breath of Arda, she would answer his call.

In recent eons, as she now measured her life, she had heard the soft echo of grief upon the wind. Olórin sought the grey robed Valar, Nienna and learned of heartache, loss, and ultimately kindness. Where once she had been righteous in her anger, now she tempered her words, and sought new ways to bring about change.

These new ways required no small degree of tact, and subtlety. She donned a grey robe and pointed hat, and walked the world with the gait of an old crone. She became known as Gandalf, Mithrandir, the grey wanderer. Olórin travelled Middle Earth and listened for the shift in the breeze, the change in the seasons.

She felt it when a Dragon came down from the north and sacked the Lonely Mountain. She felt it again when the battle raged between dwarves and orcs, and the Balrog roared deep in the ground. Evil still lurked in the hidden places of Middle Earth.

Evil slumbered, but the reprieve would not last for long. Curumo was a stubborn as Aulë, he would not, did not see. Aiwendil was content in her corner of the Greenwood. Alatar and Pallando had fled to the west. She was the only one left to follow the shifting shadows across the map and make sense of their shape.

She saw fire.

She saw a dragon.

She saw pain and the end of all things.

She also smelled the reeking stench of a muddy town on the outskirts of the Shire. Bree had been much nicer in days gone by. It drew many folk along the east road and had its share of good and ill in measure. It was dark and rain muddied the streets. She had come with a purpose, following rumours to the Prancing Pony.

The dwarf was seated alone by the fire. He had the bearing of his father and grandfather; regal, watchful. He would do. He would have to, there was no other. She had not been able to locate Thrain, since losing sight of him some eighty years ago. So it would have to be the son. He bore an echo of Durin in his bearing.

Olórin crossed the crowded tavern floor and took a seat across from the dwarf. “Mind if I join you,” she asked. She caught the barmaid’s attention and ordered food. “I should introduce myself, my name is Gandalf. Gandalf, the Grey.”

“I know you, Tharkûna,” Thorin said before quaffing his ale. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing. I haven’t seen you in Bree in nearly forty years, decided to become a blacksmith again?”

Thorin gave her a look, calculating, and he took several long puffs on his pipe before he answered her. In that time she brought her own pipe from the many folds of her robe.

“I heard rumour that my father had been seen near Dunland. I went to look,” Thorin replied, “But I could not find him.”

Her gaze softened and she tapped her pipe against the table lightly. “There has been little other than rumour regarding your father in some eighty years, Thorin. Why do you continue to look?”

“He is not dead. There had been reports, this demon the Orcs speak about. It harries them in the Misty Mountains. I believe it to be my father.”

“And if it is not?”

Thorin waved a dismissive hand. “You spoke with him, before Azanulbizar. What did you say?  I saw you there. Yet you didn’t help. Who else could it be?”

Who else indeed? Olórin wondered what the dwarf would do if he knew that those rumours surrounded a hobbit. She lit her pipe and chose her words carefully. “I urged him to abandon Azanulbizar and retake the Lonely Mountain. That dragon has been squatting in your mountain for too long. I would urge you to do the same.”

“Do you not think I have tried that? I have gone to each of the kingdoms. I have pled, begged, all but grovelled for support. I am ignored or spurned by turns. Erebor is a fool’s hope.”

“It is not. I feel much depends on that Mountain.”

“Speak plain, wizard.”

“Gather a company, and make for the east. Reclaim your homeland.”

Thorin snorted derisively. “Is a wizard all it takes to turn the tide against a dragon? Are you throwing your lot in with the dwarrow?” He put his pipe between his teeth. “I thought your kind didn’t involve themselves.”

“I am not throwing my lot in with anyone, Thorin Oakenshield. I am simply offering advice, and perhaps a little help,” she smirked.

“A little help? What kind of help are you offering if you do not plan to accompany us yourself? My patience is running short with your double speak.”

“I never said I would not accompany you, but my path may differ at times. Therefore I will select someone for your company. A. . . burglar if you will.” Yes, that felt right. She finished her pipe and tapped out the remnants. “Meet me, ...it will be some time yet before you meet with your people, I will send a missive on when we shall meet in the Shire. I w-“

“NO!” Thorin interrupted, his grip tight on his pipe. “I will not deal with those creatures. I will not have one of their weak and fickle ilk in any company of mine.”

The room darkened and thunder sounded overhead. “Listen to me, Thorin Oakenshield, if you wish to succeed you will take my aid.” She stood, towering over the dwarven King. “I will send directions in time. For now I must leave you. Go to your home and meet with your kin.”

She didn’t wait for him to respond and swept from the Inn with a flourish of her robes. Stubborn dwarves, she thought. Two could play at that game. If Olórin had any say in the matter, Thorin would need to overcome his prejudices if he was to become an effective king.

*

They crested the hill and took the well-worn path through the valley to the gate of Ered Luin. The city under the stars was smaller than any dwarven city built under a mountain, it housed just over six thousand dwarrow and saw traffic from the Rangers and the nearby human villages. Even after eighteen years living in the city, he wasn’t used to the open sky above his head. No matter how much stone he put up there, it wasn’t a mountain. It had been three days since Gandalf and their rather enigmatic conversation.

Reclaiming Erebor had always weighed on his mind but never so singly as it did since she had spoken about the dragon. The thought of involving a Halfling though, that could not be borne. He needed to find another way to return to Erebor, one that didn’t involve the wizard’s meddling.

Dwalin thumped him in the shin. “Keep looking like that and you’ll never get away from her. And I plan on reacquainting myself with my wife tonight. You and your mood are not allowed to hog her concern.”

Thorin grunted and looked to Dwalin questioningly. “Mahal wept,” he said and shook his head to banish the images that crowded his head. “That’s my sister!”

“I said reacquainting. You’re the one with a mind so firmly in slag that that’s where you’d go.” Dwalin hummed.

Thorin chuckled and turned down one of the cobblestoned roads toward the town square. He didn’t care much for their home being in the town centre. It felt wrong to live in a building that could house four families, and yet only housed his own. To say nothing of his people still living hand to mouth in many streets. He would do more to aid them, but Dis kept him from selling most of their items. Between her and Balin they would remind him of his place and the necessity of it all.

“She’s cooking my favourite,” Thorin said smugly. “She’s not even aware you decided to come along this time.”

Dwalin let out a bark of laughter. “You keep your food, nadad, once she figures out I’m here, you’re going to be fending for yourself again.”

Before Thorin could open his mouth to protest, there was a squeal from down the road. Thorin glanced up even has he put his hand near his sword.

“INDÂD! AMAD, Indâd’s home!” A chorus of screams went up and three dwarflings raced up the street. Thorin smiled and slipped off his pony to meet them, dragging the three girls into a hug.

“My how you’ve grown,” He said amidst the chatter of the three of them.

“Oh I see how it is, you love you him, but I’m no better’n troll.” Dwalin said. Thorin could hear the mock hurt in his voice, and the joy it couldn’t cover. Three gasps and the youngest of the girls, Ragna wriggled from his arms and let out a whoop of joy.

“Adad!”

“No, I see how it is. I know who’s loved.” He said, holding up his hands, fending her off.

It didn’t work as Ragna grabbed his hand and swung into Dwalin’s arms. She was quickly followed by Eydis and Ylva, and before Thorin could mourn the loss he had his arms full of nephew as Kili barreled into him.

He thumped his forehead against Kili and tugged at his braids, and looked up to see Fili bringing up the rear. It had been a year or more since he had been in the city and Thorin marvelled at the changes in his nephews. He tugged Fili in for a hug and tugged his mustache braids.  “These are new, your father used to do them.” He said, “They suit you.”

“It’s good to see you Indâd, you look a little thinner though. Is your cooking really that terrible?” Fili asked, as they thumped foreheads.

“Worse, Dwalin’s.” He said as he took them under his arms. They walked toward the house.

Dwalin was ahead of them carrying his three daughters on his shoulders as if they weighed nothing. Seeing his family, and the relaxation and joy coming from his best friend was one of the only reasons he returned to Ered Luin. If nothing else could be figured out now, at least Dwalin had a chance to see his family again.

Dis was out of the doorway and into Dwalin’s arms, where he swung her around. The two shared an intimate moment and Thorin looked away only to let out a bright bark of laughter. “Well I never thought to see you come here.”

“Aye well, I thought I’d see how my stubborn cousin was doing all the way out West.” Dain said, striding from the doorway and enveloping Thorin in a hug. The boys slipped free before they were crushed and Thorin thumped Dain on the back.

“It’s good to see you, cousin. Have you been here long? I hadn’t heard news of you travelling.”

“We travelled the Tharkhudammamâ, and arrived yesterday through Emyn Uial.” Dain said, staring pointedly at Thorin.

Thorin held up his hand. “I’m glad you arrived safely. But any discussion of that can wait until I’ve eaten and cleaned the road from me. Also I have things to discuss as well. So, later, over some much deserved wine.”

“Fair enough, cousin.” Dain said. “But discuss it we will, aye.”

 

*

Some hours later, after all the greetings and reunions, after washing weeks of dust and grime from his body, and after a hearty meal, Thorin felt more himself. The younger children had been put to bed, and now the rest were sitting in his study around a warm fire. Dis’ study, he corrected. Her influence was everywhere; from the rugs that kept in the heat, to the paintings from local artists that adorned the walls.

The study had been emptier when he’d last been in here. It was nice to see that it was getting some use. But also more proof that his place was not here. He sat in a comfortable chair near the fire, a goblet of wine in his hands and tried to focus on the joy of having his family under one roof.

The adults he had expected to join them. Rikka, Dis, and Dain, were seated and enjoying as Dwalin embellished some ridiculous tale from their adventures on the road. Fili, Kili and Thorin III were lounging quietly about the room. When had his nephews grown up? Fili was growing into his own, and he looked more like Vili every day. There was a seriousness to the lad he hadn’t noticed before, a settling about him.

Kili, oh, his Kili. He would be the first to admit he had a soft spot for the lad. Everyone did. Whoever could hate such a bright and wonderfully kind boy must have something wrong with them. Kili was boisterous and always had an easy laugh to brighten someone’s day. It hid, or did its best to conceal, a well of deep pain. One of the many chains of guilt that Thorin carried. He would find a way to give Kili a choosing stone. One day.

“Thorin, why in Mahal’s name have you built outside of the mountain?” Dain asked in the silence left by Dwalin’s story.

Thorin drew his gaze from the boys and took a sip of his wine. “The same reason the Tharkhudammamâ entrance is blocked. There was a fissure, and then a series of cave-ins. The ocean has claimed most of Blue Mountains. There are a few pockets and two mines still in operation, but the rest is firmly lost under tonnes of seawater.”

“Mahal’s beard, Thorin.” Dain whispered. “It’s wiped the entrance to the Way from here. I could feel it faintly, but it was clouded. Rikka says that there was nothing, just emptiness. We had to scout back and take Emyn Uial’s entrance.”

Thorin started. “Doesn’t Emyn Uial require two to open the entrance?”

“Aye it does, and I thank my beard that young Thorin was with us, he’s a fine lad and he remembered the song. He’ll be a good leader some day.”

Thorin looked over to his namesake and smiled at the blush that stained the young dwarf’s features. Fili and Kili slapped him on the back and refilled his wine glass.

“That’s a long way off, adad.”

“Aye, the Valar willing, you’ll be grey by the time you take my place.” Dain drained his goblet and wiped his hand across his mouth, brushing beads of liquid from his beard. “Your engineers are amazing, Thorin, and they’ve done a wonderful job with this city. But… how do you stand it? We’ve been here two days I feel like the sky is going to swallow us up.”

“That feeling never goes away, not truly.” Thorin admitted. “But we do what we must to survive. Hopefully we will not have to be here much longer.”

“You do? Do you realise how many workers and magic users you’d need to drain it? Thorin that’s a bold plan.”

“No, that’s not my plan. I plan to retake Erebor.”

“What!” Several voices raised and looked at those around. Of them all, only Dwalin and Dis were unsurprised. Dis was worried. He could see it in her shoulders. He leaned forward and took her hand to pull her close and squeezed it. She squeezed back, hard enough he felt his knuckles move.

“Don’t treat me like I’m something soft, nadad.”

“Tell them about the wizard, Thorin.”

“Wizard? Who? Tharkûna?” Dis asked, looking between Dwalin and Thorin.

“I was in Bree, chasing another one of the rumours about - about the demon plaguing the orcs in the Misty Mountains. I thought,” He took a breath. “I had hoped it might be father. Gandalf found me there, or somehow knew I would be there. I’m not sure, who understands the mind of a wizard?

“She urged that we retake the Mountain. Remove the dragon, and claim our birthright.”

The room was quiet, the only sound was of the wind coming down off the peak. Dain cleared his throat. “Cousin, you know if I had the power, I would lend you whatever you needed, and you’ll always have my sword. But this. Taking on a dragon? Are you serious?”

Thorin didn’t speak at first. He stared into the fire as it crackled merrily in the hearth. Even now, after a hundred and seventy years he could still feel a tendril of fear. Even as the smoke travelled up through the chimney it reminded him of the acrid, choking scent of Dragon fire, and charred bodies. He shuddered and shifted away from the hearth. Dis caught the move and squeezed his hand harder. She had only been ten, but she shared his memories. She knew.

“I’m quite serious Dain. It is time to reclaim Erebor. The dragon has dwelt there long enough. My people need their home back. I need my home.” Thorin looked to Kili, and his heart clenched to see him wrap his arms around his chest; an all too painfully familiar gesture.

“We need the choosing stones back. Some of us have been lucky. But not others.”

Dain sighed and Thorin could see a weight settle about his cousin’s shoulders that hadn’t been there until now.

“Thorin it isn’t as easy as all that.” Dwalin snorted and Dain held up his hand. “I mean it. What is your plan to take the mountain?”

“Use the Tharkhudammamâ and bring a small contingent through to scout, if the dragon is dead, remove the carcass and reclaim my birthright.” Thorin said easily. “Should the dragon still be alive, there is more planning and strategy needed, any plans depend the mountain’s interior. But as simply as possible: use the surprise to trap the beast and kill it.”

“The might of Erebor couldn’t stop it the first time, what makes you think that it can be stopped this time?”

“The might of Erebor, as you say, couldn’t be fully launched that day. Most of our fighting forces were scattered throughout the mountain, it was a holiday. We were spread throughout the city and in Dale. The ceremonial guard was the only thing that could be launched. But a concentrated force, a specially chosen one that we train, could take the dragon down.”

Dain sighed. “You are asking much, Thorin.”

“It is my birthright, Dain. I have to go back. I have to do this.”

Dain looked at Thorin from under his bushy eyebrows and Thorin could feel the scrutiny. Dain had a remarkable habit of pinpointing what Thorin didn’t wish to examine. He always could see the heart of what Thorin wanted, even at Thorin’s most evasive.

“First, you don’t have access to your Tharkhudammamâ. You now need special permission from the council to access them through any of the other mountains. Second, you need to call council in order to open up Erebor’s entrance, and that is going to be difficult, if not impossible.

“The facts are cousin, you might be the rightful king, but you haven’t acted it in sometime. You and the Longbeards here have been sheltered from the broader aspects that have been happening.” Dain clenched his fists and released them. Thorin could feel the tension in the room, the anger that boiled barely checked in those around him. Dis and Dwalin would go down fighting and defending him, what he hadn’t expected was Kili.

“That is not fair, cousin. Indâd has done everything for us. He’s sacrificed everything to keep us alive. And you dare claim he’s not a king? He’s the best King there is, the only one that has the right to rule. How can you not see that?” Kili stood, hands at his sides and red in the face. Thorin aborted a move to stand when Fili took Kili by the shoulder gently.

“Your uncle has done right by you here perhaps. But Thorin, you’ve spent the last eight years searching for your father. A dwarf you’ve already buried and claimed legally dead. You have sent letters to all the kingdoms regarding the Arkenstone. Looking for information about its magical properties?” Dain shook his head. “Your behaviour has been erratic at best these last few years, many on the council believe that you are showing signs of the same illness that took your father and grandfather.

“Why are you looking for him? And if you believe him dead why do you wish to use the Arkenstone of all things to resurrect your father?”

Thorin shook his head and let out a bitter chuckle, of course the council thought he was going mad. It made things so much easier for them. “I’m not looking for the arkenstone to resurrect father.” He bit out. “He’s not dead. We never found his body on the field, and the rumours I’ve heard have enough truth to them, Dain. He’s out there. And if he is, then I have no right to call myself king.”

“Then why are you looking for the arkenstone, Thorin? It’s a very pretty gem, aye I grant you that, but these superstitions of it being magic are unfounded.”

“Not unfounded. I’ve read the manuscripts. I’ve seen the accounts. These aren’t mere rumour, Dain. If used properly, it could bring someone back.”

Dain looked at him and then cast a glance to Dis. Thorin wanted to yell, he wasn’t crazy, he wasn’t like his grandfather. He didn’t care for the gold or any of the shiny things in that mountain, he just wanted that one stone for himself. That wasn’t much to ask.

“Thorin, when was the last time you forged something?”

“What’s that have to do with anything? You know I smith in the human villages.” He spat. “I’m not mad, Dain. This is real. We need to retake our home.”

“Thorin, your forge is empty. It’s not just closed for a season. I went there yesterday, thought you might have something lying around I could tinker with.” Dain halted and Thorin dug his fingers into the side of the chair to give him strength, even as he shook his head in denial.

“Your tools Thorin. They’re rusted and broken. Forgotten. When was the last time you used a forge?”

The room was too close, so claustrophobic he stood and went to the nearest window, opening it for air. “It’s not as bad as you think.” He whispered, fervently. “I’ve just been chasing the rumours. I smith in the villages when I have time.”

“Thorin,” Dwalin said softly. “The last three summers you and I have met up guarding caravans. I haven’t seen you make anything in years. Not since you left here chasing after that stone, and Mahal knows what else.”

“Stop it, all of you. I don’t need your concern. We need to focus on plans for taking back the mountain.” Thorin bit out, his temper fraying. He didn’t need their concern now. Not now. He needed them to do as he asked. As he ordered.

“Then what is the reason for the Arkenstone? Yes it might give you some sway with the council, but so would sticking here for a few years and showing the council you mean well by your people. This hunt for a jewel, no matter how precious it is to our line is what gives them pause. Is it… is it Frerin, Thorin?

“Thorin, he’s been dead for a hundred and forty years. You burned his body with the rest after Azanulbizar.”

“One hundred and forty one this August. And his body wasn’t amongst those that were burnt.” Thorin said as he turned back to face the group. His chest felt tight and he grabbed the window sill to keep himself steady. Even now he felt like a traitor. He closed his eyes to stem the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

“I would give anything to bring him back. But, Mahal this isn’t about him either.” He admitted as his frame shook. “I need this Dain. I can’t stay here anymore. I can’t be in this place much longer. It isn’t my home, and my people are dying. I can’t watch it anymore.”

Dain came over to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not it either,” he said.

Thorin snorted. “When did you become wise?”

Dain squeezed his shoulder and tried for a grin. “I’ve been ruling for quite some time now. I picked up a thing or two from my wife.” Dain laughed suddenly and Thorin watched the gears of Dain’s mind turn. “That’s it! Thorin you haven’t found your One yet. That’s all. I know the time has been long, but it will be worth it when you meet him. Perhaps he’s in the Iron Hills, come for a visit, and see if we can’t spot him.” Dain said. “Don’t throw yourself at Erebor.” Dain sighed and added softly. “I can’t watch you kill yourself this way.”

The wood of the window sill splintered in his hand and there wasn’t enough air in the room to drag into his lungs. “Stop. Erebor is my only hope.” He said, his voice hoarse, cracking under the strain of what he held back.

“I need air.” He pushed from the window and made for the door to be stopped by Dain’s hand on his shoulder again. “Thorin, this isn’t right. I understand you’re beginning to lose hope. Having a One is difficult enough, but not meeting them for this long… Well, you’ve always been a strong dwarf. You’ll find him yet. And then we can discuss this whole Erebor situation.”

Thorin tried to pull from Dain’s grip, but his cousin’s hand tightened. He looked in that face filled with sympathy and not a bit of pity and something within Thorin snapped.

“No.” backed away and tried to wrest himself from Dain’s grasp but his cousin held on tight. Distraught, He sucker punched Dain in the jaw and backed away from everyone. “You don’t understand. None of you understand. He’s dead.” Thorin whispered. “He’s dead, and if I can get the Arkenstone, if the stories about it are true, I might be able to bring him back.”

“What do you mean dead? Are ye bloody sure?” Dwalin asked. “I thought you hadn’t met him yet?”

Unbidden and unwanted, memories of Bilbo entered his mind, and he could almost smell lemons. He tried to push them aside but again he felt something crack in his chest, in the shield he had been building around the pain for the last ten years. Thorin was pushed, gently, back into a chair and a glass of warm brandy was placed in his hands. He looked to see Fili had taken over as the others argued amongst themselves. It took several minutes for the room to quiet down again and he could feel all eyes turn to him.

“Who was he, Thorin?” Rikka asked. “I’m sure we would have heard if you had found your One. If he had been a dwarf.”

Thorin closed his eyes and shook his head. “He was a hobbit. We met while I was working in the Shire.”

Dis let out a strangled noise and he watched as she looked to his coat that hung by the door. “When Thorin?”

“When what? When did I know? The spring he made me lemon cakes. Of all bloody things in this world, it took those stupid fairy cakes to make me see what was in front of me. I wasted six years not knowing, and another three waiting till he came of age. I made so many excuses, next year, next spring. And by the time I did, his fucking family and their petty close-mindedness made our last time together horrible.

“But still, I put things off. Spring would be different, things would get better and I could bring him here and he could be who he was meant to be.” Thorin growled and the cup in his hand went into the fire. It roared and sparked as the alcohol caught and dissipated.

“Instead, I come home to find that we need to move. The city is sinking, and we need to rebuild. I had to stay here and lead my people. I couldn’t go back for him as I’d promised I would. So I sent eight fucking years of letters. Eight damnable years and never heard a response.

“Then I went looking. For something. Anything. I needed to know if his family had hurt him.” He swallowed thickly.

“Why would his family hurt him? What? They didn’t think a king was good enough for one of their own?” Dis demanded.

“Hobbits don’t understand a lot of things. They didn’t so much care that I was a dwarf, but that we were both men. Or rather, he wanted all the benefits of being a man, while still--” Thorin looked at Kili.

“He was like me? Is that why you wrote him, Indâd? Did you think he could help?”

“He was in close contact with the elves, and while I didn’t know the whole story, I did know that he had some knowledge on remedies, things that didn’t involve choosing stones.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Even if he couldn’t or wouldn’t speak to me regarding our relationship, I knew he would have responded to my query regarding you. He would never have left you in need. When he didn’t answer, I knew something was wrong.

“I went looking, and found out that the spring I didn’t return, he closed up his home and left. His kin told me of him. That he-- ‘d-died on the road somewhere chasing after that stupid dwarf of hers.’”   

He flinched as Kili broke into a sob. There was an apology on his lips when he was nearly knocked from his chair as Kili hugged him.

“I’m so sorry, indâd. I’m so sorry.”

“Are you sure, Thorin?”

“I don’t feel him anymore. It lingered for a long time, and I thought maybe he was still alive out there. But these last six years I haven’t felt him at all.” He took a breath. “I haven’t touched hammer to anvil since. I, I can’t. So you see, I need Erebor. I need the Arkenstone. I can’t keep going much longer. I am so very tired. If I could just give Erebor back to our people. It would be enough.”

“You speak of this as if you don’t plan to survive.” Dis whispered.

“You are very lucky, namadith. You have your children, and you have Dwalin. You won’t be alone.””

“I will not bury another brother. I have lost the same as you. I have buried everyone. I cannot even begin to understand the shearing of one’s soul. But do not tell me I am lucky.” She hissed. “Reclaim Erebor. Find the Arkenstone and take it to the Shire. Find your One and bring them back. I will support you with my pen or my sword if this is your plan.

“But if your plan is to throw yourself at a dragon; die in the attempt to follow after your One.” She glared at him, her eyes hard as silver steel and he thought he saw his mother looking back at him. “He’s a hobbit, Mahal would never let him into our halls. The only way you can get him back is if you live. I will tie you to the rocks of this mountain myself if I have to. Just see if I don’t.”


	2. Old Feelings Return

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> All hail Striving-Artist the bestest of beta's ever. She has wrangled my ideas and sentences into order and without her this thing wouldn't be near as awesome. Thank you!! 
> 
> So this is chapter 2, and there are some warnings. First and foremost we get to the reason for the explicit tag. There is an explicit F/M sex scene. I felt it was necessary, not only to show the change in tone from Interludes to this fic, but also it delves deeper into the emotional centre of the two characters that just cuddling and a conversation could not. If you wish to skip past it, it's in Dwalin's Pov. But I wanted to let you all be aware that it's present. 
> 
> Other warnings still apply, and there's a new tag going up, trans mpreg and mentions there of. If you have any questions or need a tag, let me know!

Winter winds whipped off the ice and blistered his skin as he ran. He couldn’t see, could only feel the cold as it bit into him through his tattered clothing. There was noise all around him. He covered his ears but it did nothing to block it out. He needed to find someone, they needed him. But he was so tired. He needed to rest.

The noise around him wouldn’t let him though. The screams of the dying, the fear in his heart that wouldn’t abate, not even for a second. He could barely keep on his feet and toppled over into the snow and rocks, top heavy.

A scream wrenched the air and he dragged his gaze from his distended stomach. He pressed his hands against the taut jacket out of instinct, and continued to run toward that scream. He couldn’t be too late. Please. Don’t let him be too late.

*

Bilbo bolted up in bed, screaming as he clutched his now soft stomach.

Fucking dreams.

He flopped back against the bed and closed his eyes. Instead of his eyelids he saw snow and ice, felt the chill of it on his skin. Bilbo cursed and rolled out of bed. No more sleep for him.

Eight years, eight bloody years he’d been able to forget them. Not a single weird dream, bad dream, nothing that plagued his sleep. Not a single ‘isn’t it lucky you were there in time, Bilbo’.

He’d been normal.

It was still very dark; dawn being some time off. But Bilbo knew he wouldn’t find any solace in bed. He dressed in his gardening clothes, eschewing the binder for now. It was too early, and the thought of constricting his torso left him shivering and absently rubbing his stomach.

Bilbo walked through his empty house to the kitchen, putting the kettle on for tea. It took until the leaves had steeped and he settled in the solarium before the dream let go completely. Bilbo pulled out the old, dusty leather bound journal. One he hadn’t picked up in nearly a decade. How he hated looking at the green leather cover. No other hobbits kept a running tally of their dreams.

Each page was a date, a brief scribble; a dream he had once had. He flipped open to the first blank page and wrote up the bits he remembered. It became no clearer on the page; it eluded him further. There was no information within it. Though, it held the same feeling his old dreams did.

Icy cold, someone in trouble and in need of his help. The stomach thing was new, and he shied away from what his subconscious was trying to throw at him there. Perhaps it was just a dream. Maybe there was nothing ominous about the snow and the scream and it was just an old nightmare come back to plague him.  

Couple that with Rowan leaving to go to Lorien and of course his subconscious was wreaking havoc with him. That didn’t explain why it felt so familiar. Or why they were happening again. The fear in the dream didn’t come from what was, it came from the same place his other dreams had always come from, some nebulous future he couldn’t touch or change. One he could only react to if he got the information in time.

Bilbo swallowed too hot tea and cursed whatever gave him these visions, these feelings. They were bloody useless. And as he hadn’t had to deal with them in quite some time, he was quite happy to be rid of them, thank you very much.

All they did was remind him of what he couldn’t have. What he had lost. The dreams of winter had always been about one person. One dwarf. And now, eight years after they had stopped he was waking up with his teeth chattering as if he’d been dropped into a blizzard again.

Bilbo remembered when they stopped coming. Remembered the absence of them in that first year he returned to the Shire. He thought perhaps the future had been changed or whatever magic he had needed time to catch up. But the years had passed unfailingly, with no resurgence of those dreams. No sound of Thorin’s voice in his head calling out to him.

He knew Thorin was dead.

His chest felt tight and he slurped scalding tea to distract him from the agony that spread from his heart. By all that was green, he hated his dreams. He hated them for reminding him of his dwarf, for reminding him that he had been too much of a coward and lost his chance. For reminding him he was different.

Thorin was dead. He had to be, it was the only explanation that fit. Bilbo had never really subscribed to that fanciful notion of perfect matches. He wished he could. Perhaps then he wouldn’t have been such a coward. But hadn’t he seen firsthand what that kind of love had done? Hadn’t his parents been like that? His mother, so totally in love with his father, than she barely hung on a year after his passing.

In his own life, alone without Thorin, he still stubbornly clung to life. If he and Thorin had been true Ones, wouldn’t he have followed him? He had thought his heart would eventually mend when he hadn’t died after that first year. He questioned his resolve and his feelings more times than he chose to contemplate when he hadn’t followed Thorin. But he still clung to life, as terrified of death as he always had been.

He’d had offers from other hobbits. The younger crowd was much more open to that sort of dalliance. Never marriage. No, hobbits still hadn’t come so far as to allow such a thing. And he was still the Misfit of Hobbiton’s tidy respectability. There were more now, young hobbits and even some older ones, those who had found their own way to handle things with plants and other remedies. None of them worked quite as well as the remedies in Rivendell. But then Rivendell’s remedies were magic.

Some of the other hobbits, those like himself, wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. They’d been living their lives quietly, never making a fuss, and they wanted no part in making a fuss now. After being told by several well meaning hobbits he should just settle down with a lass, Bilbo had lost what little patience he had left.

The younger set were, in their own way, worse. They were very vocal, very antagonistic, and very much in everyone’s face about things. If he was twenty or even thirty years younger, he would be right along with them. They had the right of it, and Bilbo agreed with their every ideal. But Bilbo just wanted to be left alone. He didn’t want to be the exemplar of change, or the cautionary tale.

“Fucking hobbits,” He muttered.

Grousing in the comfort of his home had become his habit of late. Much better to keep the not-so-respectable thoughts inside where he wouldn’t suffer any consequences for them. He was an oddity even without his sharp tongue. He was a ‘chooser’ as the young ones liked to call it these days, homosexual and a bachelor.

Never mind that he was a caul-born, and had the occasional prophetic dream. He had thought that part of his life was behind him. All the winter dreams about Thorin had been just that, a warning he’d lose him in winter. And he did.

Why were they bothering him again? Now, after so long? That dream hadn’t even been about Thorin. The scream he had heard had not been Thorin’s voice. Bilbo let out a groan and set his empty cup down. No, it was just a nightmare. A shitty, awful nightmare, nothing more. He was a normal hobbit. It didn’t have anything to do with the caul-born nonsense, he wasn’t special, he was just a bachelor hobbit who spoke his mind far too often for the comfort of others. He was normal, he wasn’t odd. These dreams were nothing and they’d pass again. He just needed to wait them out.

“Bollocks it all. It’s time for breakfast.” He said and set off to raid his pantry.

*

They had argued for hours, all of them torn between offering sympathy and yelling. In time, Dis and Dwalin managed to see Thorin off to bed; brother and sister clung to one another long enough that Dwalin considered making an exit to give them privacy. The two of them had argued a lot tonight, most of it unintentionally.

Thorin wished them a good night and promised to see them in the morning. Dwalin dragged him into another hug and received a growl and thump in reply.

“I’m not made of shale, for fuck’s sake. I’m okay.”

“Sure you are. We’ll see you in the morning, nadad.” Dwalin said, and he caught the half smile of Thorin’s as he closed the door.

He and Dis made their way to their bedroom in silence. Closing the door behind them, he pulled his wife into his arms and kissed the top of her head, squeezing her. She held him just as tight and he could. He could feel the clasps that held her beard as they dug into his chest.

They undressed in silence and slid beneath the covers, neither of them needed to speak. There had been so much said that evening, too many words, too many things that required planning. But Dwalin knew what she was thinking, knew she was making plans to keep her last brother alive. Even if that meant taking on the dragon herself.

Gently, he pulled her close against him. “I took an oath to follow him anywhere. I’m going to keep it, yasith.”

She elbowed him, but quickly turned in his arms and looked at him. “You took that oath when you were twenty-four and he was six. You’ve been keeping him alive for too many years, and now he’s lost his One.” She bit her lip, so he brushed his fingers across her face. “We’ll do whatever it takes for him to get that stone.”

He pulled her closer, kissed her forehead. “Aye, you have the right of it. He’ll get the stone back and I’ll take him myself to the Shire to bring his One back. This time next year you and I will be planning a wedding for a hobbit.”

“Don’t make jokes. You know this could take years.”

“We don’t have years, Dis. Neither does Thorin. This is going to happen and soon. I know that look in his eye. He’s willing to look for options now, but the longer this drags, the harder he will be to shift from his target.”

She settled against him, pressing her forehead against his. “Then we work fast, and make sure the Council listens to us this time.”

He could feel the strength of her, just under her skin, feel her heart beat in time with his. He hadn’t held his wife in his arms in over a year, and then she had been giving birth to their fourth child. Retaking the mountain and giving them a home would benefit more than just Thorin. Dwalin felt selfish just thinking it.

He loved his brother, and his heart bled for the loss of Thorin’s One. For the pain his friend, brother, king, was facing. But he missed working near his wife. Missed feeling her against him at night. He missed the smell of her in the air as she ran the city. He missed the adrenaline of fighting in the practice ring, being soundly trounced, and then being happily taken to bed by her.

Dwalin kissed her forehead again as she took in the information. There would be plenty more discussions about how to proceed. And he didn’t know how long he could stay within the city this time. If Thorin would have to travel to plead his case to the council, Dwalin would leave as well.

His lips found hers in the dark and he sank into her embrace as easily as breathing. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and they rolled over in bed until she was seated on top. He licked his way inside her mouth and could taste wine and honey from dessert. Dwalin slid his hands down her sides and settled against the swell of her hips, rocking his hardening length into her thigh.

She snorted a laugh against his mouth and bit gently on his bottom lip. Dwalin let out a moan and rocked his hips again. Dis pulled back. “You have absolutely no patience,” she whispered, kissing along his jaw.

“I have all the patience in the world.”

“Really? Prove it.”

He grinned in the dark and there was only the briefest flash of his teeth before he lifted her up by the hips and settled her firmly on his face. With an exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows he flicked his tongue out and licked along her sex. Dis cut off a giggle on a gasp and grabbed the headboard with both hands.

Satisfied he had her attention, Dwalin pressed his tongue flat and rocked it against that hidden pearl. With his hands still holding her in place, he could feel the muscles of her legs and ass tighten. Snaking his tongue between folds, wet with a taste he’d spent the last year dreaming about, he pointed it, and slipped inside her. She moaned above him, impatient and almost irritated with the minor penetration. So he returned to her sensitive nub, flicking at it a few times before taking mercy on her. It wasn’t quite licking, it wasn’t quite a circle, but he had his tongue mimic the way his hand would work at her, just above the bud. It was a relentless lavishing of heat and wet pressure. He held onto her thighs and moaned at the familiar pleasure, rocking his own hips up into empty air. He knew he could take himself in hand if he wanted, but that wasn’t important. What mattered was reacquainting himself with his wife.

The words that fell from her lips as she took her pleasure and rode his mouth were amazing. He watched as she bit her lip and tried to stay quiet, cursing him as he sucked and slid his fingers inside of her, groaning as he felt her inner walls tighten at the invasion.

“Mahal, I forgot your tongue,” She whispered and gasped as he flicked his tongue across her bud again, the sharp, brief contact making her twitch. Her thighs shook and sweat beaded on her skin. She was nearly dripping over his fingers as he withdrew, sliding back patiently. She let out a deep purr and bounced against him, held down by his arm around her thigh.

“I missed your tongue. I missed your mouth. Your face. Oh, Mahal, I missed… oh I missed your hands.” She managed. She trembled above him, the muscles in her thighs and abdomen tightening and shaking as he brought her closer. She could crush him between her legs and he would die a happy dwarf. Dwalin let out a moan and tormented her with his tongue’s firm pressure, his fingers buried deep, and his thumb catching against her swollen nub every few strokes until she started cursing and writhing. Dis stilled, taut as a bow string above him and let out a brilliant clear note as she came.

Dis wavered above him for a moment. He slid his hands along her waist and rolled them over. She kissed him, deeply, with a curl of tongue and her hands, Mahal her hands, slid to his sex and guided him inside her. He let out a gasping moan as she moved under him. Her leg slipped behind him and pulled until his hips pressed against hers.

Dwalin never doubted for a moment that Dis, his gorgeous, brilliant wife, was in charge in all things. Even in their pleasure, even though he was the one to do the taking, she ran the show. He pressed kisses from her mouth, down her beard and the column of her neck. He held her, his fingers splayed on her back as he pulled her higher to change the angle of his thrusting. It had been too many months sleeping in bedrolls next to snoring, smelly Men and dwarves.

Pleasure settled in his belly and the muscles in his thighs tightened as he rocked his hips. She clenched around him, dragging her blunted nails along his back. Dis whispered breathy moans and endearments, instructions he enthusiastically followed. He felt like lightning in a bottle, and she snapped her hips to meet him, riding him to his completion, no matter that she was beneath him.

Dwalin shuddered, spending inside her, holding her as tight against him as he dared, holding onto the moment as long as he could, knowing that as pleasure faded, reality would once again take hold. Here in their bedroom, closed from the rest of the city and Middle Earth, Dwalin wished to maintain the peace and happiness she had blessed him with since she presented her suit and thoroughly trounced him in the ring.

He kissed her again, a soft, lazy meeting of lips, hoping to convey even a hint of what he could never adequately share in words.  

Dis laughed against his lips, a tired but genuinely happy sound. “All right you sap,” she whispered, “I love you too.”

***

Summers up near the North Coast weren’t warm. Wind whipped down from the north and the Mountains were thickly covered in pine and fir trees. What warmth there was to be had lay in the sun when it chose to shine, and that was only for a few hours at midday. Bifur liked that time of the day, when the sun would peek from the behind the cloud cover and white everything out for a few hours. It was more sun than they received at home, so he chose to enjoy every bit of it, smoking his pipe and carving trinkets to sell on their way south.

He was in the middle of carving another dwarven soldier for a set when he heard the rustling of feathers. Bifur looked up through his bushy eyebrows to see a rook had settled on the boulder nearby. Attached to its claw was a small pouch, no doubt containing a letter of some kind. He set aside his tools and reached for the bird to take the letter.

He got as far as untying it before the beast squawked and bit his hand, flapping just out of reach. Pain lanced through his hand he let out a string of curses and picked up the nearest rock to lob at the beast. Only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder. He turned to snarl at the stranger to see Balin there, one eyebrow quirked as he took Bifur’s bleeding hand in his.

The anger drained from Bif, even as he continued cursing about misbehaving birds ruining the day.

“That’s Thorin’s rook, and it’s a touchy iznêsh kakfh gaihu.”

Bifur raised his eyebrows, the axe in his head pulled and he grunted. //“I thought you were above such language.”//

“I’ve picked up a few phrases from my husband.” Balin said, a slight smile twisting his lips as he wiped the blood from Bifur’s hand. “There, nothing deep, love. Bom is going to fuss, but then, she always does, doesn’t she?. I’ll fetch the letter. You go see your cousin and get that tended.”

Bifur wasn’t by his nature prone to gross displays of affection, the axe didn’t help and often terrified people when they came in contact with him. He squeezed Balin’s hand, gathered his things and slipped back inside the mountain and down to Bombur’s home. He was immediately overrun by the noise of a very full household.

The decision to come visit family had been long overdue. He had been living in the Blue Mountains since the Azanulbizar disaster and only returned to Ered Mithrin a handful of times since. His memories of the place were few and far between, even though he had apparently had a full and interesting life in the Mountain before he had signed on to the cause to retake their old home.

Bif got the impression when he returned to Ered Mithrin that he was a ghost. Trying to fit into a place and time that no longer fit him. The price of losing most of his memories. He remembered who he was, and he remembered bits and pieces of his life before, but the life he built in Ered Mithrin, the one where he had been planning to settle down with a dwarrowdam and have children, that no longer existed.

The family that remained had treated him with kid gloves, as if he would break at the mention of certain things. Not Bofur. Bofur’s treatment of him never changed, for which he was truly grateful. Bom, lovely, honest, quietly terrifying Bombur; she had changed in the beginning. It had been two decades after his injury, and well into his relationship with Balin that he had been told about Grina. Bom’s best friend, and Bifur’s intended before Azanulbizar. She had died in the battle, like so many other dwarrow.

Bom had been left to mourn her. Bifur to this day couldn’t remember anything about her. So his cousin had been difficult in the beginning. Their relationship was still odd and she often treated him as if he were one of her children instead of forty years her senior, but they were making progress. Bofur and Balin helped a lot.

Speaking of that dwarf, Bofur’s bedroom door opened and two dwarrow left the room, pausing to share an intimate moment. Bifur ducked his head and muttered as he went into the kitchen avoiding Bofur and their current lover. He dodged the four younger children playing some game with toy soldiers he was making and took a seat.

Bombur had a sixth sense about injuries and she tsked and cleaned out the small cut on his hand, grousing good naturedly. Bofur came into the kitchen and sat at the table cleaning out their pipe and humming softly.

“It’s clean, it’ll heal well, rooks can be right bastards when they’ve a mind.” Bom said. “Like some others I know.”

“Oh, was that meant for me dear sister?” Bofur asked, tapping their pipe on the table.

“I’m not saying anything, my dear sibling.”

“Oh but what you’re not sayin’ could fill a theatre.” Bofur said as they put their pipe in their mouth.

“I don’t understand it, and I never will, so why have the argument again?”

“Can’t a dwarf have a complicated relationship with their soulmate and not have it turn into an epic romance?” Bofur asked around their pipe.

“Of course they can, but neither of you are like stone, now are you?”

Bofur snorted and lit his pipe. “I can love the dwarf all I want. Doesn’t change a thing that happened.” They lit their pipe and took a puff.

“But, it’s been almost forty years.”

“Almost, sister mine. Another year left on that, and let’s not forget who helped-”

Balin cleared his throat in the doorway. He had a letter in hand and he looked around. Bif pushed the chair next to him out and offered it for Balin to sit. “Not to interrupt what I’m sure would have been a thrilling argument, but there has been news from Ered Luin.” Balin said, taking his seat. “Thorin is making an official petition to the Council to retake Erebor.”

//”What changed? He’s been trying to do this on his own for decades.”// Bifur asked.

“The wizard, Gandalf, is somehow involved, and she has information that could be prudent to finishing the dragon off. I’m not sure the full story, Thorin is clipped in his correspondence, which means that Dis is involved.” Balin sighed. “I’m to draft several letters here before I leave, but we’ll need to be on our way within the week. One of those letters is general call to aid from the Longbeards. Thorin wishes to gather support from others who suffered during the exile, to what end I’m not sure.”

“Well, he has me and my hat,” Bofur said simply.

“Why in Mahal’s name would the king want your hat, Bofur.” Bombur asked, shaking a ladle at them.

Bofur shrugged. “I’ve been following the king since Azanulbizar, I’m not about to stop now. Whatever he plans, whether to take an army to Erebor or only himself, I’m going with him.” He looked over to Bom. “And where I go, my hat goes.”

Bom rolled her eyes. “You’re free to use the study, Mister Balin. Please ignore this one’s cheek. But if the lummox promises something they means it. Let me know if you require anything else.”

“Thank you, Bombur, and it’s Balin, please.”

“Think nothing of it, you and your kin have been very good to my family over the years. Knowing that husband of yours, he’s going to throw his lot in with whatever the king plans to do. You can count me in.”

//”Don’t know what Ylvr is going to think of that,”// Bifur said. It was times like this he felt apart from the flow of things, observing and not really involved.

“Ylvr can think anything he wishes. I’m not about to leave my family to go gallivanting all over Middle Earth without someone there to make sure they come back. If this about going home, he’ll be happy to work with the stones again anyway.” She brandished the ladle at Bifur and then swung it to face Balin. “Now, go write your letters, lunch will be ready soon, and I’m sure the next few days are going to be busy. No sense doing it on an empty stomach.”

***

Winter came to Ered Luin, and with the chill winds and fading light Dain, his wife, and son left to return to the Iron Hills. Much had been accomplished since that night in July. Still more was being done. All of the appropriate documents had been sent to the seven kingdoms. Strategies had been put in place, his mother and uncle had argued long into the night. Dis going back over the plan again and again as if forcing Thorin to see there were ways out, other ways to handle the dragon instead of the brash and reckless way he seemed bent on.

Fili had watched in silence. Unable to offer any suggestions, he felt particularly useless during the planning meetings. Most of his training was complete and Thorin had been in charge of Ered Luin for thirty years at Fili’s age. Meanwhile, Fili had never seen battle, had lived his childhood in peace, and was used to handling the affairs of city maintenance and grain negotiations. Not war and slaying dragons.

His mother and uncle had charts and maps, some brought from other mountain libraries, others painstakingly rendered by hand. The maps littered a table that had been set up in Thorin’s office. It took up a large portion of the room by the fireplace and it was covered in papers, and small figurines, including several renditions of the dragon in varying sizes.

It was late in the evening, and his mother had left to tend to a town hall meeting amongst the guild masters. He and his uncle remained in the study, eating a quick supper and drinking mulled wine to chase away the chill.

The map they were currently working from had been drawn off an old and decaying scroll in their own library, and Fili could see the little flourishes that suggested Ori had been the one to copy it.

The younger dwarrowdam had a keen eye and was a true artist even in city maps. This map must have taken her weeks to finish, and he was rightly in awe. He had some talent for drawing, enough to sketch general plans for the armour he made in his spare time. But the level of detail, the small touches in the gold ink she used for the palace, the fine and careful lines and the neat lettering. She would make a Master Scribe yet.

“Fili, come here.”

He startled and looked up from the map, sheepish. Hopefully they wouldn’t pick up on why he was so interested in the map. He should have been paying attention to what the map showed, and more importantly, the strategy his mother and uncle had developed on it. He walked over to his uncle and raised his eyebrows in question.

“Yes, indâd?”

“I want your input,” Thorin said with a slight smile. “You’ve been listening to your mother and I for months. I should like to hear what you think of this whole thing.”

“Something other than mother and her ‘that’s too brash’, or ‘that’s too reckless’ I would assume.” Fili asked.

Thorin cuffed him gently on the back of the head, ruffling his hair as he had when Fili barely reached Thorin’s knee. He remembered looking up to this huge dwarf, the one who carried their people on his shoulders. He was so big in Fili’s memory, he eclipsed everything. He remembered the other children of the mountain were terrified of Thorin and would scatter when he walked the halls.

Not Fili, he’d hear the familiar sound of his uncle’s footsteps and race to climb up onto Thorin’s shoulders and demand stories of Erebor and the wider world.

Now, even though he could look his uncle in the eye, he still awed Fili. And he was asking for Fili’s opinion, his input. Thorin had asked for his input before, on many things, but they had been small matters, farming, or a point of law, nothing as important as what Thorin was planning tonight. This was a quest to launch an army at the mountain, slay a dragon and resurrect Thorin’s One. Fili wasn’t sure he was up to the challenge, but he looked down at the map once more, really looked at it.

“What is that section there?” he asked, pointing to a large empty section of the map, it had several concentric circles spaced out but it looked barren compared to the rest of the map.

“Those are the forges,” Thorin said quietly. “One of them is as big as this house, and could smelt enough metal for thousands of dwarrow to work from. Some of them were used for ceremonial items, large statues.

“Over here is the sluice gates. The aqueducts tapped many of the underground springs and deep mountain rivers for the water that we drank and cooked with. But for the forges, the water was syphoned from the River Running itself.”

“The river was diverted?”

“No, River Running is a massive river from the north, even at its most narrow it was wider than River Lune. Snow and glacier melt feed that river. When Erebor was new they connected the mill to it to take advantage of its power. The water ran through the forge room and into the pipes and all through the mountain. Even with the forges running day and night the river was as strong as anything.”

Fili looked at the map and tried to imagine the scale Thorin was talking about. He had heard of such things, knew from the stories that Erebor and the cities of old were huge in scale and might, but hearing them whilst perusing a map with neat lettered script was something else entirely. He followed the line from the forges to the treasure room and the neat line of carved dwarven warriors. They were old, toys perhaps from his and Kili’s toy chest from decades gone. He picked one of them up and pursed his lips in thought.

“You have the look of your mother,” Thorin said quietly. “What are you thinking?”

“It’s just that.” He stalled and tried again. “You and mother have been planning with a large force in mind. Assuming the council will give you the army you need. What if we don’t have that many? What if they only give us, say,  twenty soldiers?” He looked at Thorin questioningly, “That would require a change in tactics. And if we have even fewer we run an even greater risk.”

For a moment Fili felt he overstepped. His uncle’s gaze was so steady upon his face and his countenance was so grim. He opened his mouth to stammer an apology for overstepping but Thorin held up and hand and inclined his head.

“You are correct, Fili. There is a very real possibility the council will deny me the numbers I seek. Balin has been sending out queries to see if there are any of the Longbeards who wish to align themselves to our cause. Their numbers would be above and beyond those soldiers from the other kingdoms. I would rather willing dwarves, those loyal to the cause, for they are less likely to waver. It is why I am not seeking those who would choose coin. Any mentions of the treasure have been kept quiet.

“Never apologize for your opinion, or for questioning decisions. As long as you show respect, and they respect you, any question should be met with an answer. We are alone in this room and I sought your counsel. You are free to dissent and question here. How else are you to learn to rule if you cannot question those around you?” Thorin clapped Fili on the back shoulder and squeezed. “Understand though, there will be times when I cannot take the time to explain my decisions. But I will endeavor to do so when possible.”

“Thank you, indâd,” Fili said, “this plan is so much more important. How do you stand the not knowing?”

“You will find Fili, that the older you get, the less sure you are of your decisions. You just have to hope that given the information you have, you will make the best possible choice. Experience helps, but I remember many sleepless nights when I was younger, agonizing over the choices before me. I didn’t always make the right decisions, but so long as I took into account the safety of our family and our people, I counted the decision well made.

“Why do you think this plan is more important? More important than what, ingadan?”

“Well, this is Erebor. Your home, amad’s home. We’re going to fight a dragon, so you can get your One back. That’s a lot more important than grain reports.” Fili said quietly.

“I’m quite sure the scholars and writers are going to view this as such. But grain reports and civil matters are important, more so than big deeds. Kingship is simply a gathering of small details.” His uncle sighed, went to the sideboard and filled two goblets of wine. He handed on to Fili and leaned against his desk. “I will not say that I’m not pinning a lot of my hopes on this quest. But I do not want to see you fling yourself at this quest in an effort to spare me. You are young Fili and you have a long life ahead of you.

“I must ask, is this why Kili is avoiding me?”

Fili nodded. He couldn’t lie to Thorin, not about Kili, not when they shared a mutual concern over his brother. “He thinks he hurt you. With all his pestering about writing your friend. I’ve told him many times that he didn’t know, and that it’s not his fault.”

“You’re right, it is not his fault. If I could take back my mistakes, I would keep that choosing stone. And what happened to my One, that’s no one’s fault but my own.” Thorin looked into wine glass. “I’ll have a talk with him.”

“He’ll come around, indâd. Your words may help, but I think this is something he has to come to himself.” Fili sighed, “Kili has a deep heart, I worry he will get hurt should he leave the safety of Ered Luin.”

“Likely he will. Kili feels things very deeply, but he cannot be sheltered from the world. That would do your brother a disservice. There are those out there who may hurt him. You and I, if we could stop it from happening, it would be for the best. But we cannot. So we do what we must. Which is be a pillar, the stable part of his life so that when the world gets too much he can come to us and we’ll hold him until he’s ready to face it again.

“As much as we wish, there are some hurts we cannot spare our loved ones from. It is the hardest lesson we’ll ever learn. Nor would Kili wish you to spare him, he is his own dwarf and has the right to make his way in this world.”

Fili narrowed his eyes and laughed. “How long did it take for amad to get that to stick?”

“I caught on eventually. It only took a couple of sparring matches that ended with me limping, but I did finally see sense.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My gods, you guys!!! The response to the first chapter has been amazing. I hope, I so hope this second chapter delivers. Thank you guys so very much. Again please let me know if you need another tag. Btw, feel free to come talk to me on tumblr [@mephestopheles](http://mephestopheles.tumblr.com/) I love to hear from peeps and talk headcanons. 
> 
> Khuzdul
> 
> iznêsh kakfh gaihu - flying shit wing


	3. Emyn Uial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Striving-Artist is the bestest beta ever. No warnings for this chapter.

 

She had been packing for weeks. Small items; little things that could be forgotten or their absence overlooked. Master Balin had been very helpful in telling her what she would likely need on the road. And he had been even kinder in not asking her why she didn’t just ask one of her brothers.

Perhaps he knew.

Perhaps he understood that were Dori or Nori to find out she’d be locked up in the mountain without a chance to see the light of day until she was a hundred. Well dash that. Dori could shove his decency and propriety right up his jackhole. She was seventy-two, old enough to make her own decisions despite what her brothers thought.

The night before they were to leave on the quest she couldn’t sleep. She stayed in her room and repacked and unpacked and packed everything again. She had her book, the new blank one with the leather binding. Ori had scrimped and saved for over a year to buy it. It was large and had wonderful detailing, it would be perfect to chronicle the entire quest in.

She kept her room dark even as she packed and made sure to put her slingshot in her back pocket and recheck her knitting. It was still cold in Ered Luin, and though they were travelling in summer, nobody would begrudge a scarf or an extra pair of mitts.

Ori had asked Master Balin about supplies for food and what she should bring. He smiled and reminded her of the vague memories she had of her grandfather when she had been a wee babe in arms. He shook his head and chuckled, told her that supplies and food had already been taken care of, she did not have to supply for herself.

Ori was grateful to hear that. She didn’t think she could hide food going missing in the house. It was bad enough she’d been hiding yarn and she took Dori’s second favourite sewing kit.

The sun still had not climbed above the mountain, but she couldn’t wait any longer; she put her packs on, adjusted her cowl, wrapping it securely around her head and snuck out the back window of the home she shared with Dori.

They lived on the top floor above the weaving studio her brother rented. A drainpipe was near her window and she scurried down it, jumping the last couple of feet with a hitched breath. Looking around to make sure no one heard her, she stepped into the alley and waited.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she could swear it was loud enough for the whole street to hear. She just knew that Dori was going to know she was leaving and all the lights would be lit and that’d be the end of it. Scratch one adventure for Ori. Go back to your books and sit down like an obedient child and make pretty paintings.

Fuck Dori.

She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and stepped carefully into the street. It was empty and the studio was still dark. Ori took a deep breath and turned down the wide street and made for the town gates. She slipped through the empty streets dodging puddles of refuse and muck. April was a wet month in Ered Luin and last night’s toss offs hadn’t been picked up by the city cleaners.

Dori hated the city cleaners. Hated the muck and the smell of the textile district. They lived and worked in the clothing district, but out of necessity the textile district was very dense. He complained bitterly about the smell; how Erebor had been different. Not only did the districts not mingle, but there had been adequate ventilation so the stench of the tannery and other places like it would not bother his business.

“To say nothing of the real plumbing. Not any of this throwing your shit into the street.”

“You were in swaddling clothes when the dragon came, so shove off.” Nori used to say when he would drop by.

Well, if they were successful she could pick out the best studio in all of Erebor for Dori, and maybe Nori would be able to come home for more than a few days at a time. She’d rather like to have her family back together again. All things said and done.

“You’re not half bad, namadith.”

She let out a curse and looked wildly around to see Nori step out of the shadow of a doorway.

“No! No! I’m going on this quest. I’m Master Balin’s pupil and I’ve been given the honour of Chronicler. You and Dori are not taking this from me.” She cried and picked up her pace through the textile district. There were a few dwarves already up, and they paid her only the cursory bit of attention. “I’m old enough to make my own decisions Nori. I thought you of all dwarves would understand.”

“Hey now, I’m not stopping ya.” He said catching up with her brisk pace.

Ori looked over to him, noted a pack slung over his back. “You’re not?” She chewed her bottom lip. “Why not? I thought I’d have a fight with both of you.”

“Not from me, namadith. You’re an adult. I can’t stop you from living your life.”

Ori halted in the middle of the street and stared after her brother. “What’s the catch?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. There was always a catch with Nori. It clicked and she stomped her feet in the muddy road.

“NORI you promised me you’d stop!” Ori stomped over to him and poked him in the chest. “You told me you wouldn’t have to run away again.”

“Can’t I just be joining the quest to earn some gold along the way? Heard there’d be a nice profitable job in it if we survive.”

Ori huffed and picked up speed to the gate. There were several dwarrows on guard and she couldn’t rightly lay into her brother’s less than legal activities in front of them. How he managed to move about freely in the city was beyond her.

She ducked her head and quickly stepped through the side gate that was open to foot traffic. Nori followed, and Ori looked up in time to see one of the guards give her brother a dirty look. Nori didn’t seem to notice, or if he did he was so used to it they didn’t bother him anymore. Ori didn’t know how he did it; took all the shit the other dwarrow threw at him.

Sometimes literally.

“You’re coming along to check up on me. Even if there’s gold at the end of all this, you wouldn’t risk your neck just for a pretty piece of it.”

The fields beyond the gate entrance to the city housed four large outbuildings for horses and stabling for guests. Very few in the city had access to private stable, save for Lord Thorin and his family. Master Balin had said there was a note left with the stable-hand saying she was a member of the party and would require a pony.

“Mayhap I am coming along to check on my sister. You might be your own person, and you can make your own decisions, I grant you that. But I’m not about to let you risk your neck when you don’t even have proper training.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Dori’s. Keeping you wrapped up in that house of his. If our mother had still been alive she’d have set him to rights. Tough as anyfin our amad. So, you’re going on a quest, and it’s about high time you learn how to keep yourself alive. I’m coming along to make sure you get the right training.”

Ori stopped in front of the stable doors and poked her finger at Nori’s chest.

“You can join me, but there are rules.” She said, when he didn’t say anything she took a stabilizing breath and continued. “You will not steal from the others in the company. No, don’t look at me like that, we’re following house rules. And I mean it. You will not take from anyone on this quest.”

“I don’t have a death wish namadith, I’m not about to start stealing with the king and his best guard in plain view.”

She had to concede that point. “Second, you need to stop coddling me. You say you don’t but you’re as bad a Dori sometimes. I’m my own person. Ever since we started living outside of the mountain you and Dori have been on my case, ‘trying to keep me safe’. Train me if you wish, but I will not be known as Nori’s little sister.” She let out huffing breath. “This is my chance Nori, a real chance. Mister Balin said Lord Thorin liked my maps. He liked them, Nori. Do you know what it means for me, this quest? I can make my mark on this world. I can buy Dori her studio. I can pay off those awful money lenders who own it.”

“I can pay off your debt. I can keep you safe. Have my family back.”

Nori took her hand and squeezed it, the look in his eyes took on a fierce light. “You will do no such thing, Ori.” He gritted. “I’m going on this quest and that should be enough. They’re not getting a bleeding coin from me, or you, or anyone else.”

“Nori, please-“

“Nope, leave it, namadith.”

Ori let her hand fall, knew she’d get nowhere and went into the stable to locate one of the workers. She handed the paper off to the hand and he pointed to the ponies at the end of the stalls. “He’s signed on too.” She said and the dwarrow grunted and spit at Nori’s shoes but jerked his finger down the same line of stalls. Nori sketched a mocking bow, the light from the torches glinted off the blood red choosing stone at his throat.

The other dwarf cursed and walked away. Ori flinched and quickly went down the line to the ponies. She picked the dappled grey mare and pulled a sugar cube from her pocket. “There you go,” she whispered. “We’re going to be good friends, yes? And you’re not going to try and throw me off or bite me, or whip me with your tail. That’s a good pony.”

It nickered. She decided to take that as agreement and tied her pack to the saddle. It took her a couple of tries to get seated but she managed it took the reins, guiding the pony toward the road.

“Nori,” she started not sure where to begin.

“Yes, sister mine? You have something on your mind.”

She chewed her lip and fiddled with the reins. Perhaps it was nothing, she was probably just being silly.

“Out with it, Ori.” Nori snapped, “Otherwise you’re going to burn a hole in that pony you keep worrying.”

“They signed up, Nori.” She whispered, winced and added the iglishmek for ‘hat’.

“Oh. Well.” Nori took her reins and hugged Ori tight. “Doesn’t change a thing, namadith. Not on this quest for them. I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed. Dori would be impossible to live with if that happened.”

“As if I’d let you be the sole caretaker of our sister.”

Ori jumped and looked up ahead. Just before the treeline, Dori stood with two ponies full of items including his elaborate sewing case. He was decked in his finest and his hair was neatly braided. He looked every inch a dwarf about town.

“No, no, no, no. Mahal damn you both! This was my quest! Now Master Balin will think I needed my brothers to come with me to keep me safe!”

“As you should, you’re only seventy-two. I’ll not have you gallivanting off all the way East because of a pretty dwarf with moustache braids.”

“Oh ho! The plot thickens.”

“Hush the both of you! Or I’ll keep you out of the chronicle I swear! You’ll be a footnote, ‘et by hobbits’. Very tragic.” She most certainly was not blushing.

Damn her brothers, damn them.

*

The chambers under Emyn Uial were ancient, carved during the creation of the Tharkudammamâ. They were a labyrinth of tunnels and rooms. Some of the greatest proclamations were made in those very halls. It had been decided there, in the Chamber of the Axe, that their language would be secret; their ways shared only among themselves. It was there that the dwarrow had come together and agreed to follow Thror into Azanulbizar.

And it was there that Thorin hoped to finally convince the Council to back him in reclaiming Erebor. He had arrived with the sunrise and taken the hidden path to a small circular clearing in the stones. To the men and elves who travelled these roads it was nothing more than a dead end. High craggy stone towered over even the tallest men.

To the dwarrow, to those with a key, it was the entrance to history itself. Thorin spoke the words of magic that had been passed down for generations from King to Prince and the stone in front of him glowed red then blue as the locks turned to admit him.

He stepped through the door into the dim hall and led his pony down through twisting warren and into the stable. He unsaddled the beast and brushed her down, gave her water.

“Dwalin’s not with you.”

“I was expecting Balin to be here,” he said, taking his time with his things before turning to face his sister. She had a disgruntled look about her. She was dressed finely, in a supple leather armour, and her hair was a cascade of dark chestnut braids, the two in front denoted her family, the right House Durin, the left, House Fundin. The rest of her hair was caught up in a complicated crisscross of twelve strands. It was their mother’s braid. She had to go and do that now didn’t she.

“Balin will join us in a few days,” she said. “He’s busy working on that contract for Gandalf’s agent. He’s been working day and night on that thing for you. Whatever creature this Mister Borgens is, they won’t be able to move an inch against us once Balin is finished.” She shook her head and closed the distance between them, thumped his forehead and tugged a braid. “How are you holding up nadad?”

He closed his eyes and nodded against her forehead. “I’m fine. I would be better if well-meaning but nosy people would stop asking me that.” He sighed and stepped back. “So if Balin is working on the contract, why are you here? You’re not joining the quest, right Dís? I thought we agreed we needed a Durin to hold Ered Luin.”

Dís snorted and shook her head. “We did agree to that. And even though I’m not happy about it, I do agree with the necessity. I’m here so that you don’t make a fool of yourself yelling in front of the council. I’m here to get you your army.”

She clapped him on the back and they walked from the stable and through small courtyard. Lanterns placed high in the ceiling were surrounded by reflective gems and metal to refract the light and give the illusion of soft daylight.

Dwarrow filled the courtyard, running errands, or fixing weapons. He noted the livery for all of the seven Kingdoms, and his personal guard. “Where are the children?”

“They’re nearby. Glóin’s wife, Vara, is here with Gimli and she’s taken them in hand while we handle the council.”

They continued through the courtyard and a series of rooms until they reached the Main Hall. As they entered he spotted two familiar dwarrow and a smile touched his lips. Kíli was the first to see him and raced into his arms. He thumped his nephew’s forehead gently as Fíli joined them.

“I’m glad you are both here,” he said gruffly.

A chime sounded from the next room and he let out a sigh. Family reunions would have to wait. Business was at hand. He released Kíli and squeezed Fíli’s shoulder. He guided the older boy to his right side, while Dís and Kíli stood on his left.

The Audience Hall was a cavernous room with high carven ceilings tiled in tesserae and lined with gems. It depicted what many called the defining moment of Azanulbizar, with Thorin now named Oakenshield standing proud against a backdrop of dead and dying orc. It was meant to intimidate. It was bright and shining and it filled the room; it towered over Thorin now; reminded him how small he was, and how much he had lost that day.

Thorin had never been here. When his father and grandfather had come before the council all those years before he had still been wandering in exile. And none of his petitions for a true Council had been approved before today. Now he was here, with his nephews and sister, and he was about to present his petition. He felt a heavy weight settle in his centre, and a surety of purpose descend on his shoulders as he stepped into the room. The fluttering nerves that had been following him fled, leaving only resolve.

Each of the seven kingdoms were in attendance, including himself. Varna and her wife Eir represented the Firebeard Clan. The Broadbeams were represented by Berit and his spouse Geir. Dain and Rikka represented the Ironfists from the Ironshills. Froya and Groa sat in grim silence for the Stiffbeard clan. The Blacklocks were represented by Gunnar and Hagan, and the Stonefoot Lords, Ivor and Jarl were also there. The centre seat, Thorin’s own, should have been empty as he was the one petitioning the council. Instead, Leif and her husband Ole from Ered Mithrin sat.

Thorin looked across at the council from Leif to Dain and then the others. Dain had the decency to drop his gaze and furtively signed for Thorin to keep his peace. Keep his peace indeed. That was his rightful seat. It should have remained empty. He could feel all eyes upon him, including Fìli’s and Dìs’.

“Members of the Council, I come to now to demand your aide. I Thorin, Son of Thrain, Son of Thror, do intend to retake the Mountain from the Dragon that has resided there these many years.” He paused. “Reports from around the Mountain all agree, the Dragon has not been seen nor heard from these last sixty years.

“This is our chance. We must strike now. Should we delay any further, others will turn their gaze to the mountain. To our home. I would not see Erebor in the hands of Men or Elf, or worse; Orc.” He paused; opened his mouth to speak again but the Firebeard Lord, Varna, held up their hand.

“Spare us your pretty phrases, Thorin. We’ve all had your letters. You inherited Thror’s way with speeches. The last time a Durin spoke to the Council we suffered horrendously. Tell us your plan, Thorin. Otherwise this meeting will be adjourned.”

“This is outrageous,” Dís said. “This is not the proper way of the Council. Thorin, Son of the Thrain is your rightful ruler. And Thorin, The Lord of Ered Luin, King Under the Mountain, should not have his seat usurped by a petty Lordling from the Grey Mountains who has so little claim to the Longbeard Clan.”

“Dís, Daughter of Haldís, you will keep your tongue. This Council is here to settle this issue once and for all. Thorin, speak your peace, then leave the decision with the council.” Varna claimed.

Thorin knew. He knew deep in his bone this would not turn in his favour. But he was a Durin, and he would not back away from this fight. The alternative was going to the Shire.

“I have retained the aide of twelve dwarrow, including my sister-kin and Heirs. Among our number is a one who is proficient in the Old Ways. With the Council's approval and their aide of a small contingent, I plan on using the Deep Roads, through Emyn Uial and make our way without alerting our enemies of our intentions.

“The Ways have been sealed, they would offer a stealthy entry into Erebor where we could determine the state of the Dragon. Should he still be alive, surprise would be on our side and with enough force we should be able to reclaim our birthright and see our foe destroyed once and for all.” He finished his speech and looked at the council. Fear settled in his gut, they did not appear to be stirred by his words.

Leif spoke. “Your plan is to take a contingent of dwarrow into the mountain in the hopes the dragon is dead? Your grandfather had the exact same plan for Moria and we lost countless dwarrow because of that scheme.” She bit out. “Have you learned nothing, Oakenshield? Or are you as blinded by your title and your greed? As your grandfather once was? We have reports you have contacting the elves, have been seeking their counsel. These are matters of the Khazad. You flaunt our laws, you collude with wizards and elves. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Thorin felt his stomach drop and he searched the council for a sympathetic face. Dain and Rikka looked pale, even the broadbeam lords looked uncomfortable. “I have sought your help countless times. I have written all of you and you have ignored my people. What greed? My people are dying, starving on the edge of the west in a town that can barely contain us. I sought to rebuild ties with the other races, to help strengthen our cause. Ered Luin is crumbling and falling into the ocean, we will not last much longer. But a small contingent of dwarrow, specially trained for a small mission would be ideal to access the deep roads and then oust the dragon.

“We have many strategies developed for taking on the dragon, but they rest on the state of the interior of the mountain. I am confident we can succeed should it be alive.”

The Blacklock leader snorted. “You have been in talks with the elves. You have been discussing our secrets with that wizard, Gandalf. How can we trust you? You who would so easily share our secrets to outsiders? You wish to take this wizard and her agent into our secret ways, let them find all of our weaknesses?”

Thorin shook his head. He was losing the argument, he could feel his chances slipping through his fingers. “I only sought their opinions and counsel, and they were unwilling to provide either. They are as bigoted as they have always been. As for Gandalf. If the Deep Roads are open to me, I would have no need of a wizard. Our people would be enough.”

Silence settled in the chamber and he waited as each of the council gazed at him. The Firebeard Lord raised his hand. “I call a vote for Thorin Oakenshield’s petition. Those opposed?”

One by one, each hand raised, the Broadbeams and Dain were the only clans to keep their fists down. Thorin retreated, anger boiling under the surface, and he wanted nothing more than to scream at them, rail against this. But he knew they would not change their minds, no matter what he said. Their use of his moniker and not his appropriate title spoke volumes. His sister vibrated next to him and he reached and took her hand.

She threw him off and stepped forward. “Thorin, Son of Thrain, is speaking to this council. He is the rightful heir and ruler of Erebor and there is enough evidence mounting that a play for the mountain is for the good of all dwarrow. Ered Luin is crumbling. It is but a harbinger for the overall state of our people. We are dying. Each and every one of you have experienced the loss that Erebor has dealt us.

“We no longer have access to mithril, nor do we have access to the largest gold and silver reserves. We have no access to the choosing stones. You, in your mountains keep the few that are left and hoard them. You offer them only to those able to pay your extortionary sums. You have indentured dwarrow, good folk, with your tactics. Our children are suffering. You, all of you, sit here on this council as if you have not felt the weight of that loss.” She took a breath. “We are dying. Our people are dying. Our history is locked away behind a squatting dragon or buried so deep with Durin’s Bane as a guard we cannot hope to reclaim it. And you would sit here in judgment of your King as he chooses to do the only thing that is right?”

“Lady Dís, you have to realize there is much to consider here,” Froya of the Stiffbeards said. “Your passion is commendable but there is more at work here than meets the eye.”

“Do not patronize me, Froya. You have lived behind your walls safe in the mountains to the east away from all dangers. You and your people have access to your mines, your history, and your choosing stones. You have not seen pain. You have not borne witness to your children miserable, dying! Your people have not been left outside in the cold to starve. And you sit there in judgment of us. How dare you.

”The longer we have lived outside of the protection of the mountain the sicker we have become. Illness spreads. We were gifted by Mahal to be hardier, to withstand the evils of this world. And yet I see us on the brink of destruction. If you do not come to our aid now and help us retake the mountain you are killing all of us.”

*

“I don’t understand? How can they still say no?” Kíli asked, tossing through his bags in a fit of anger. Fíli watched from the corner. His uncle was pacing, rage coming off him in waves. His mother wasn’t much better, but neither were talking, too lost in their own rage.

He truly loved his family, but sometimes he felt like he was the only one who wasn’t completely ruled by his emotions. He knew walking into the Hall of the Axe that they wouldn’t get their army. They wouldn’t get a bit of support from them. From the way the seven Lords had been seated, the fact that there had been seven lords instead of six. It had been a cruel and unnecessary ordeal for all of them.

Especially his uncle.

Thorin liked to pretend differently, but he lived with his heart bared for all to see. He was led by it, and ruled by it. Just as much as his mother was, and Kíli suffered from it as well. It was commendable to live so long and still believe in the innate good in others. It was also horribly naïve and usually led to disappointment. He’d learned a thing or two in his eighty years. Fíli had watched Thorin and his mother lead their people. But he also paid attention to how Balin dealt with things, handled people and situations. How only the most necessary things would get through to Thorin or Dís, and how the elder dwarrow would just handle the rest.

Balin had a complex network of informants that started with his husband, and ended only Mahal knew where. Fíli was impressed and just a little bit intimidated. But it gave him a bit more insight into how today’s meeting was going to play out.

_Pay attention to their hands, Fíli. How they’re seated, and who they look to when they’re making a decision. By the time they go to make a decision you should know not only what that decision is, but who bought whom._

Balin had been right and it had left Fíli sick to his stomach. The only thing that had left him feeling at all good about the meeting was that Dain hadn’t been bought. He was still his own dwarf. But he and the Broadbeam Lord were alone in that, and neither had enough capital to fund the quest, nor enough men to send and approve the use of the Deep Roads.

So they were left with Gandalf, and the Hobbit.

Dain walked into the room and shut the door behind him. He had the sense to wince at the sight of them. Fíli waited.

“Thorin, I’m sorry,” He said. “Please, if you let me tell them the real reason why you need the army. They’ll be more agreeable.”

Thorin rounded on Dain, and Fíli took an unconscious step back; never had he seen his uncle this angry.

“I will not tell them the real reason for going after Erebor. They already know the real reason.” He hissed.

“But if they knew about your One. No one can ignore the romance of it all. If they knew you were. . . ”

“Pah!” Thorin waved his hand dismissively. “I will not let the memory of my One be dragged out for the abased pleasure of those dwarves. No, all they’re like to hear is that my One was not a dwarf. Yet more proof of my weakness and the weakness within the longbeard clan. And further reason to deny me my army.” Thorin paced the floor. “I’ve not faded yet. I will not go to them with my crown in my hands begging for scraps.”

Dain opened his mouth but Thorin shook his head. “Do not ask me again, Dain. I will not return to that chamber. They have denied me use of the Tharkudammamâ, so I will make use of Gandalf’s map and his… agent.”

Fíli held his breath, Dain was never the most easygoing of dwarves, neither was his uncle and this argument could last well into the night. But Dain only sighed and shook his head.

“If I had the dwarves I’d send them with you, you know I would Thorin.” Dain sighed, and deflated some. In Fíli’s estimation, he looked older, suddenly. “But the council has tied my hands. I’m not free to offer my support to your quest.

“However, the second you reach the mountain, you get hold of a raven, and I swear to Mahal I will have an army ready to march and there within a fortnight. I swear it to you cousin.”

Fíli watched Thorin relax his shoulders. Dain’s support, limited though it was, seemed to settle something in him. His uncle took Dain’s forearm in his hand and thumped foreheads gently. “Thank you, cousin.”

Thorin then turned to face the others in the room, he looked at Fíli. “This quest has become more dangerous than just a dragon. Travelling overland means facing Orcs, and other fell creatures. I would not ask you to risk your life like this.”

“You’re dafter than we thought if you think a bit of difficulty with the council is going to stop us.” Óin said from the other side of the room. “You’re going to need a healer on this trip, and you know it.”

“Aye, the council be damned, you still have my axe, laddie. And my coin.” Glóin said with a firm nod.

Kíli looked at their mother and then back to Fíli. “I’m not stepping back from this, and neither of you can stop me. I’m going. By Tharkudammamâ or across Middle Earth, I am going help get our home back.”

Fíli offered his brother a small smile and nodded. “You heard Kíli, indâd. Looks like you’re stuck with us.”

Thorin inclined his head. “Thank you, all of you. I have some business to attend but I will meet you in the Shire in two days. Óin, Glóin, Balin’s pupil is set to join us and I do believe her brothers are with her. If you could let them know we’re to meet in the Shire. I will send off a rook to Balin to let him know as well.”

*

Dwalin arrived at the Inn just as dusk had settled and he left his pony with the stable-hand, happy to be off the road for a night. He had finally finished closing up the old smithy in Bree and settling the last of their affairs with the Men there. Hopefully after the quest he would never have to work in Bree again.

He looked up at the small Inn that housed his family for the night and let out a sigh of longing. Mahal, he would be glad when they stopped moving around and could settle under a proper mountain. He also longed for his wife’s arms around him, to see his children again. The quest would have them on the road for months yet. Hopefully less if Thorin had secured the Tharkudammamâ.

He stepped into the pleasantly lit Inn and was immediately met with a rambunctious dwarf pile. Young voices squealed ‘adad’ as he was pounced by his three daughters. He scooped them up in his arms and hoisted them over his shoulders in an enormous bear hug. “Oh Mahal, you’re all getting too much for me!” He mock complained and carried them to where his wife sat with their fourth and youngest.

“Let me see the wee one,” he said and held out his free hand.

“Oh no, and have you drop them like you did Ragna, when they were little?”

Ragna popped their head from over his shoulder. “Is that true adad?”

Dwalin opened his mouth to protest when chaos erupted from the stairs followed quickly by more shouts of joy as Fíli and Kíli joined them.

“He did, we were there, weren’t we nadad?” Kíli asked as hoisted Ragna onto his shoulders and bounced around the room with her.

“Yes, I do seem to remember that nadad,” Fíli confirmed as he snatched Ylva from Dwalin’s other shoulder.

Dwalin harrumphed and adjusted Eydís until she was on his shoulders then tugged Dís to her feet to kiss her soundly. “I missed you, wife.” He whispered.

She smiled against his lips, and there was more noise around him than he had been accustomed too in nearly a year; it was family, and life, and warmth. There were small hands tugging at his beard and his daughters’ feet hooked under his armpits and her braids tickled his ears.

They were miles away from their home in the Blue Mountains, and even further from their real home in the east. Dwalin felt more at home in that small Inn on the outskirts of the Shire than anywhere else.

“You know the last time you and amad started doing that, amad had Caldwin.” Eydís supplied as she rested her chin on his head.

Dwalin chuckled and tugged on a close braid. “As if you would be disappointed with another sibling.”

“Tell me, husband, where is my brother?” Dís asked as Dwalin scooped their youngest from her and snuggled him. “I thought he was supposed to meet you in Bree.”

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Snuck out after the meeting, I see.” He said. He wasn’t using their youngest as a shield against his wife’s temper. Not at all. He took a seat by the large fireplace and let out an ‘ooph’ as his eldest climbed off his shoulders and went to tease her brothers.

“You have the right of it. The Council did not go as planned and Thorin needed some cooling off.” Dís asked. “I worry about him.”

“Aye, you’ve been doing that since you were a wee one. You’re not about to stop now. But he is still his own dwarf.” Dwalin rejoined. The Innkeeper came over and he requested food and drink.

“He’s snuck out on you before, it’s not as if this is new,” Dís said as she sat next to him and thumped his arm gently.

Dwalin chuckled and looked over at her. “He’s your brother. What do you think? He makes a habit of waiting till you’re asleep before making his escape.”

Food arrived and they all settled down to eat. It was a simple meal, cold meats and cheese with a comforting stew and tankards of warm ale.

“Did you want to leave before sun up, adad?” Kíli asked as he tossed a small tomato across to Ylva.

“I’ll be leaving with the dawn, aye. You two however will be accompanying your mother-“

“Wait! I thought you said we could go! Adad, that isn’t fair!” Kíli yelled and upset his plate as he stood. His hands shook and it took Fíli’s tug on his tunic to get him to sit again.

“As I was saying. You two are accompanying your mother until she meets up with the guard caravan. Then you’ll head for the Shire.”

“Why, Dwalin. I thought you wanted us to accompany you?” Fíli asked before Kíli could open his mouth once more.

“I want to scout this place out for myself first before I risk either of you or your Indâd. Wizard or not, I dinna trust the grey robed wanderer.” Dwalin looked between both boys. Fíli seemed content with the answer, Kíli less so. Dwalin leaned over the table and knocked foreheads with Kíli. “Enough now,” He said quietly. “You’re both coming on the quest, and you’ll get your stone. I promise, or I will tear that Mountain apart myself.”

Kíli let out the breath he’d been holding and thumped his forehead against Dwalin’s. “Sorry, adad.”

“You’re all right.” Dwalin said gruffly.

“Why can’t I go? Kíli can go, and amad went on an adventure when she was younger than me.”

“Adventure?” Dís asked. “Are you referring to running for our lives from a dragon as an adventure?”

Eydís winced and ducked her head. “Well, what I meant is. It’s just that—“ She flailed. “I want to go too. I don’t want to wait for my stone I want to pick it out myself.”

Dís hugged their daughter and kissed her head. “You are too young my dear. Kíli is of age, and it is his right to go on this quest. Eydís, my darling child, you will not need your stone for another ten years at least. You will be able to pick out your stone once this quest is complete.”

“I’ll pick one out for you shuktuê. I’ll make sure it is extra pretty.” Kíli said as he reached over and ruffled her hair. “I’ll pick the best one out for you I promise.”

Eydís scrunched up in her nose leaned against Dís. “I still want to go.” She said, pouting.

Dwalin had enough of the whinging and hoisted Eydís onto his lap. “I know little one, but you need to understand, this is not just an adventure to the East. Your brothers are Heirs to the throne. This is as much a part of their training as is it a quest. They’ll be expected to act like the princes they are, and they will have duties and expectations placed upon them. This isn’t going to be a jaunt.”

Dual groans sounded across the table and Dwalin eyed the two of them as they leaned against each other in mock upset. The excited gleam in their eyes was poorly hidden. Kíli tucked back into his meal, but Fíli caught his eye and a small smile touched his son’s lips. Dwalin managed to return the smile but he quickly reached for his ale and took a healthy swallow. Gods, when had Fíli grown up; when had he started looking so much like Frerin?

His son was thirty years and more older than Frerin had been, and though he insisted on following his father’s tradition with the moustache braids, only a fool could miss the similarities. Frerin’s name hadn’t come up in decades. There were few good memories left untainted by Azanulbizar, and neither Thorin nor Dís ever spoke of their lost sibling. It hurt Dwalin to look at Fíli and see two wonderful dwarrow look back at him. Fíli remembered little of his father, the dwarrow had died before Fíli had turned five, although Dís, himself, and Thorin made sure to keep his memory alive. Perhaps that was why, now, after so many years he was starting to see something else.

So many things would have been different if Frerin were still here. Would he have looked like Fíli? Or would more of his mother’s stock come through and soften the Durin edges? It was a night for ghosts it seemed as he tried to shake off the maudlin thoughts. No use wishing for something that couldn’t be. They were already going to try the impossible with bringing back Thorin’s One.  

Eydís giggled and brought Dwalin out of his reverie, resting her head on his shoulder. “I still want to go with you. You haven’t been home in months, and now you’re going again.”

“Aye, I am. But your mother canna go, she has to take care of the city. So it’s up to me to keep your indâd from doing anything foolish. Now, finish your supper, we’re all going to bed early, we have a lot of travelling come morning.”

  

*

Morning arrived and with it, the troupe of dwarrow stomped from the Inn in a clatter of thick boots and squeals. Fíli had woken early to check the horses and adjust the supplies. Dwalin would take the pack pony with him so Fíli and Kíli would make better time with amad.

A nervous excitement filled his chest; it had been growing since they had left Ered Luin. They were about to go on a quest to retake their home. He had heard all the stories of Erebor since he had been a babe. And now they were going to take it back. Provided the other clans agree to send them aid. He had been close to his mother, training under her to help manage their home, Fíli was versed in politics and negotiations, and the very boring side of leadership.

He’d known that unless a miracle happened they weren’t going to receive any aid from the other kingdoms. His indâd was very good at speeches and could rouse the hearts of any dwarrow who took long enough to listen. But the council had been resolute in their refusal, and had left them with little choice.

He checked the shoes on his pony and his brother’s last time, satisfied with the care they received from the stable hand. He stood, gave the piebald pony a pat on the nose and an apple. “Now perhaps you won’t bite me this time, yeah?” he asked and her ear flicked as she enjoyed the treat. He wasn’t above spoiling his pony if it meant keeping his fingers.

“There you are,” Kíli said at the stable door. “Adad wants to see us before he leaves.”

Fíli nodded, giving the pony a last pat and turned to face his brother. “I’m coming nada- Kíli where are your braids?”

Kíli stood in the doorway of the stable and his hand automatically went to his unbound hair. His face flushed and he shook his head. “It’s nothing, Fi, let’s just go.”

Fíli crossed the stable and took Kíli by the arm. “What happened, Kí?” Something had happened to make Kíli take the braids out. Ever since they’d left Ered Luin there had been issues. Small things that on their own were easily fixed, but still hurt his brother. Small-minded people and their prejudices. It hurt him to see Kíli hurt so by these strangers.

“Leave it, Fíli. Not. Today.”

The steel in his brother’s eyes spoke volumes and Fíli let out a sigh. “Alright,” he said, closing his mouth around everything he wished to say. He thumped his forehead against Kíli’s.

Fíli smiled suddenly. “Then let me do something.”

“What?” Kíli asked, narrowing his eyes.

Fíli separated several strands of hair on either side of Kíli’s face and with nimble fingers braided the lengths and slipped beads on the ends.  “There, now you at least have Thorin’s braids. They might not understand nadad, but they cannot take your family from you. C’mon, let’s go say goodbye to Dwalin and get on the road.”

Kíli crushed him in a brief tight hug before they left the stable and entered the small courtyard outside of the Inn. Kíli pushed him and Fíli stumbled a few steps. “You can call him adad, you know. You used too.”

“I know,” Fíli said, rubbing hand across the back his neck. “Look, Ki, it’s not that I don’t want to call him adad, it’s just that,” he searched around for the right way to say it. “There might come a time – and I hope to Mahal is never happens – but I might have to order Dwalin to do something dangerous. He’s the King’s Guard. If I let myself think of him as adad, I’ll never be able to give him that order.”

Kíli dragged him into a hug and ruffled his hair. “You worry too much, nadad. And you’re entirely too maudlin on the morning of our first grand adventure.”

“And you took braids out of your hair because someone in that tavern made a hurtful remark,’ He groused. “We all do what we do, nadadith.”

Fíli immediately regretted his words and the look on Kíli’s face was enough to know he’d hit the mark. He opened his mouth to apologize but the rest of their family joined them and the two brothers were swept into a group hug from their siblings.

Dwalin knocked heads with both of them, promised to see them when they arrived. “If I have any concerns I’ll send a crow. If ye dinna hear from me by sunset, arrive as planned.”

With a last fierce hug all around, Dwalin swung onto his pony and headed off East.

The next hour was cacophony and organized chaos as the children were settled onto their ponies and the supplies were packed away and were on the road north to where the guard caravan had camped for the night.

It was mid-morning by the time they crested the small hillock and came in sight of the Royal Guard. They dismounted and tied the extra ponies to the back of one of the wagons. There was more hugging and climbing by from his siblings and he hugged Eydís tightly.

“You’ll pick out my stone, right? Kíli will want to get me one that’s too big.”

Fíli laughed and tugged her braids. “Kí and I will both pick one out. We know you shuktuê, we’ll pick the best one.” He gave her another hug and sent her to join their siblings piling on Kíli one last time, and went to join his mother.

She was staring at Kíli, her gaze was unguarded. Fíli grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry, amad. I’ll watch over him. He’ll come back to you safely, I promise.”

Dís wheeled her gaze on him, her expression steely, yet barely containing the fear he could still read in their depths. “You will _both_ come back to me. You foolish boy.” She pulled him into a fierce hug. “You are my first, you made me a mother. And I will have you both come back to me.” She whispered. “Protect your brother, as he protects you. Your uncle and Dwalin will take care of themselves.”

He clung to her, unable to do more than nod against her shoulder.   

“He loves you, you are his child as much as you are mine and he understands why you do it.” Dís stepped back and kissed the top his head. “You’re going to be a great King someday, Fíli. But do not bear the weight of the crown too soon. Promise me that Fíli.”

“I just want to make indâd proud, yeah.” He could never hide anything from his mother. Dís had a way of knowing everything before he knew it himself.

“Thorin is very proud of you. You’ll see. I do not like this quest, Fíli. I don’t like it at all. But don’t, don’t go following after your uncle’s charge.” She whispered fiercely. “There might come a time when he’s too far gone to think of the safety of the company. The council was a blow, this agent of Gandalf’s has made things worse. You are young, too young to have such responsibility. But you need to be aware of the risks you face, not just from the orcs on the road.” She said. She took a deep breath and stepped away from him. “Now, be off with you boys. At this rate you won’t make Hobbiton by sundown.”

Fíli tugged her in for a quick hug and kissed her cheek then ran to drag his brother back to their ponies. Once mounted they waved and turned back down the road they came and retraced their path to the main road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations: 
> 
> shuktuê - Kin of mine


	4. Gandalf is a Nosy Arse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a doozy. It's almost 12k. Everyone needs to thank Striving-artist for being the bestest beta ever, because wow did she help wrangle this chapter into submission. 
> 
> You know I'm not sure if I need this, but it's here anyway just in case. **There's a self-harm trigger warning for this chapter.**.

 

It took her a bit longer than she anticipated to get to the Shire. Information gathering was a slow business. Spring was in full bloom in the Shire and the whole of Hobbiton was out in the brilliant sunshine.

She slipped through the Shire unseen and crested the hill to Bag End. Memories of walking a similar path for a fiery hobbit lass and dragging her off on adventures returned with a keen edge of nostalgia. More memories, images of a cold winter, and that same lass, faded, joined and she stopped. Yes, that was a risk as now. That was always a risk. But Belladonna Took’s son was important. She could feel it in her bones.

The smell of Longbottom leaf drifted on breeze and she picked up her feet and continued the climb to the house on the hill. The hobbit sat out on his front bench, odd. A very un-hobbitish hobbit sat in front of his smial. Bilbo Baggins was dressed as any hobbit would be, with a yellow weskit and simple trousers. But his hair was long, gracing his shoulders, and there was small braid that wound its way from his temple behind the point of his right ear. It ended in a flash of silver. This was getting even more interesting.

She came upon him and he didn’t stir, only blew more smoke rings. With the barest flick of her wrist she transformed the ring into a butterfly and watched as it bounced of the hobbit’s nose.

Bilbo jumped and his right hand dropped to his waist, eyes snapping open. Yes, Bilbo Baggins was definitely the right choice. The hobbit let himself relax just slightly.

“Good morning.”

Olórin’s mouth got away from her. She watched him struggle to be polite. It was a hard battle and hobbit nearly lost to backbone. Years of conditioning won out in the end, and Olórin was rather disappointed.

“All of them at once, I suppose,” Bilbo said and puffed on his pipe. “Can I help you?”

“That remains to be seen,” she said. “I’m looking for someone to go on an adventure.”

The hobbit stood and adjusted his weskit. Fussy little creature, not at all like she remembered of the boy from his childhood.

“Adventures, no, I have had my fill of them, thank you very much,” he said with a huff and checked his mailbox. He puffed on his pipe and made a point of ignoring her.

“That bead in your hair tells me different,” She said and nodded.

“How I decorate my hair is no concern of yours. You haven’t even had the decency of introducing yourself, really.”

She stood up tall and adjusted the large hat on her head. The nerve of this hobbit, to question who she was. “You know my name Bilbo Baggins, even if you do not know that is belongs to me. I am Gandalf. And Gandalf is,” She floundered for a descriptor that would mean something to this hobbit. Failed. “Is me.”

He stood there gaping like a cod fish and snapped his mouth shut with an audible click. “Not the wandering wizard who had such lovely fireworks?”

Ah he did remember. That would make things go smoothly at least.

“Never knew you were still in business.”

Perhaps not.

That was it. Gandalf had a minor twinge of guilt at the idea of setting Thorin Oakenshield’s ego on a poor hobbit, but now, she didn’t feel quite so bad. They would either work wonderfully together, or they would kill each other in the trying.

“That’s decided, this shall be good for you. And most enjoyable for me. I shall inform the others.”

“Nope, no, no, no. There will be no adventures here. Thank you very much. Now good morning!” Bilbo fled behind the round green door and shut it with a bang.

Gandalf hid a smile and climbed the small stairs. She peered into the window and then scratched the agreed upon rune into the door. Leave it to dwarves to require a marker, her map had been excellent. Well it was done; time to replenish her pouches from pipe weed. She had a feeling she’d need it.

*

Bilbo Baggins pressed himself flat against the door of his smial. His heart beat wildly in his chest. Eru, please, this couldn’t be happening. He counted up to fifty in Sindarin to calm his nerves and fraying temper. The nerve of that wizard. If they showed up again, they’d get a piece of his mind.

“Why are you hiding by the door?”

Bilbo let out an undignified squawk and thumped his head against the wood. “Rowan!” He rubbed the back of his head gingerly. “When did you get here?”

“Sorry, Mister Baggins,” She said with a wince. “A few moments ago. I saw you speaking with the wizard and figured it was important business so I came in the back way.”

“Oh you didn’t have to dear, but thank you. Now. Turn around, let’s a have a look at you.”

She blushed and twirled around, petticoats swinging around her legs. It wasn’t the dress he was looking at; Rowan had started wearing dresses shortly after she had come out to him eight years ago. Elvish medicine had started her on the right path and Bilbo had been there learning as much as Rowan. Last year, Rowan had taken the plunge and had gone to Lothlorien.

The changes were unbelievable. She was everything she wanted to be, soft and well-rounded. A little thin, but they had been prepared for the toll the rituals would have on her body. But the biggest change was in her voice, and in her confidence. He understood that magic had been involved, that medicine could only take them so far, but he hadn’t known what to expect. This was his first time seeing her since her return.

“Don’t leave me twirling here, Mr. Baggins. What do you think?”

“Oh, my dear, Rowan. You are positively resplendent. And your voice, my dear. I know we had been practicing, but the elves are truly wonderful.”

“It’s all because of you, Bilbo. If you hadn’t been around, I don’t know what would have happened.” She scooped him up in a very unhobbitish hug, and he patted her back awkwardly and slipped out of her embrace.

Bilbo felt his ears burn and shook his head, the bead in his hair thumped with the movement and he ushered her into the kitchen. “Let’s have some tea and you can tell me all about it.”

“First you have to tell me about this wizard who showed up. You’re not planning on leaving us, are you?”

“Have no fear, I’m not leaving,” he said. He set out the tea service and some biscuits.

“You have that look about you.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“That look where you’re planning something. Thinking.”

Bilbo looked up through his bangs at Rowan. “I’m always thinking. How else am I supposed to look?”

“Not what I meant and you know it. You get that look about you, like something is about to happen and you’re not sure which way to turn.” She took her cup and sipped her tea. “I saw it on a few of the elves in Lorien when I was there. The ones said to carry a second sight.”

Bilbo waved a hand. “Enough of that nonsense, Rowan. I had a few dreams growing up, let’s not start _those_ rumours again, shall we?” He sat down across from her and took his own teacup. “I am thinking of going back to Rivendell, check on the new hybrids Elrond has been working on. Glorfindel has been writing, rather constantly for him, wondering when I’m going back for another hunt.”

“Have you ever thought of going to Lorien, Bilbo?” Rowan asked. “The elves there are very kind. Even if their magic does feel like it’s burning from the inside out.”

Bilbo winced. “With an endorsement like that,” he said. He took one of the biscuits and ate it while he gathered his thoughts. It was an old question. One that had been plaguing him for years. Was he less a man because he wasn’t sure if Lorien was his final goal? It was a circular argument that he could find no answer for. “I’m not sure, Rowan. I’m very, very, glad it’s made you so happy. But I’m not sure if that’s where my happiness lies.”

“Bilbo, perhaps you need an adventure.”

“What? No, don’t you start. I had enough from that wizard.”

She set her cup down and patted his hand. “You have been my friend for eight years, and I have known of you all my life. The only time you were truly happy was with _him_. Maybe you need to go on an adventure, to remember to be happy with yourself.”

He squinted his eyes. “Elrond put you up to this,” he said. “It’s like I hear his voice right now. How concerned is he?” Bilbo shook his head and waved a hand. “Nope, I’m content here. I have my garden, and I have my books, and I have you and all the hobbits here that need me. I can’t just go flitting off on adventures because well meaning, but very nosy friends, think it will do me some good.”

Rowan held up her hands, and thankfully let the subject drop. “Your tomatoes are starting nicely this year. Think you’ll win again?”

He laughed. “I’m a Baggins, of course I’ll win.”

*

He didn’t want to be here. Of all the places on Middle Earth Thorin had been forced to revisit, the rolling hills and pastoral splendor of the Shire was certainly the last one. He had arrived at dawn to avoid most of the hobbits in their morning routines. He didn’t wish to look at their vapid and smiling faces. He knew what those gazes hid, and he did not think he had the strength to hold his tongue.

So he took the familiar paths, rented a room at the Green Dragon Inn, found a secluded corner and waited. He hated Gandalf. Loathed the wizard with every beat of his heart. Furthering his ire was the Council and their continued ignorance to the plight of his people.

No, not ignorance, they were fully aware. They chose to ignore it. They turned a blind eye to the suffering of the Longbeard Clan and worried over trade agreements with the Harad and the Easterlings. Trade was all well and good, but meant not a whit to him when his people had nothing to trade with.

They were clinging to the edge of cliff. Their city was a pitiful excuse of buildings, lumped together as if huddling to keep warm against the spray of the sea nearby.

And still the council had ignored his pleas, denied his requested to access the deep roads, to take an army through to the secret entrance of Erebor and surprise the dragon while it slumbered. It was most likely dead, and they could have feasted and reclaimed their home.

Thorin let out a growl of frustration that terrified the hobbit bringing him breakfast. Good. Useless creature. He ate in silence, hiding from the hobbits in a far corner out of the way of prying eyes and horrid gossip.

*

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing, you’re thinking.” Fili said. “I don’t like it.”

“What, that I’m thinking?”

“Usually I can tell within two minutes what you’re thinking about, and what trouble you want to get into. The fact that you’ve looked like that for the last twenty minutes and I still don’t know what you’re thinking worries me.”

Kili beamed and sat up straighter in his pony. It’s not often he could get one over on his brother. “That’s because I’m not thinking of mischief.”

Fili snorted.

“I’m not! I swear. It’s just that, adad left not three hours ago. And if we cross overland, we could cut a lot of time off our trip and meet him there.”

“That’s not all you’re thinking.”

“If this bloke really stole indad’s one’s place then I’d like to get a look at him. Before adad beats him to a pulp. Maybe we could do some of our own reconnaissance.” He continued.

Fili sighed. “You know that’s just going to end up going poorly. Besides we don’t even know if that’s the place we’re going to. The Shire is much bigger than you’re imagining.”

“You didn’t see Thorin when Gandalf’s missive arrived. You didn’t see him pale at the address. Wherever we’re going, that place means something to indâd. And what other place in the Shire could mean something to him?” Fili had to believe him, Kili would never forget the look on Thorin’s face, the way the colour drained, the way the light faded from him for a second. He’d gone to get adad and Dwalin said he would handle things; Kili had relaxed afterward. Now Kili wasn’t sure so.

“If what you say is right, Kee, Dwalin should take care of it.”

“I don’t want adad to earn a wizard’s wrath for helping indâd. If we get there first, we can find out if this is Boggins fellow is the one who stole the property or if he’s just an unfortunate hobbit that’s been caught up in a bit of a mess.”  He sent Fili his most hopeful look and watched as his brother crumbled under the weight of it. It worked every time.

Fili curse and turned his pony off the main roadway and through the forest. Kili let out a whoop of excitement and urged his mare to keep up. The forest was larger than they were used to but there were several well worn footpaths, large enough they could take them without worrying about their ponies getting hurt.

Kili worried as the shadows lengthened that they’d not be in time to intercept their father, but eventually they broke free of the forest and were met with rolling green hills and hobbits all around.

They trekked across the hills avoiding the more twisting paths that would have added too many hours to their time. It seemed hobbits loved long and circuitous paths, which baffled Kili since going down the hills seemed to be the easiest route through the small town.

Some of the hobbits came out to stare, and a choice few shook what looked like gardening implements but he just waved and continued on until they found what looked like the biggest hill. They left the ponies tied up to a nearby oak tree and took steps down and stared at a round green door sticking out from the hill.

On it was the mark for burglar and he nodded and shot a pleased look at Fili. “We made it, and no sign of adad yet.”

“We’re early. The party isn’t supposed to start until after sunset. That’s two hours off. We should wait for Dwalin.”

“I’m not waiting for adad. If this is the hobbit that hurt indad’s one I want to know it. I want to know if this is the hobbit that prevented him sending help when indâd asked for it. I think I’ve earned that right.” Kili didn’t wait for Fili to reply and knocked on the door.

A few minutes later a hobbit answered. He was dressed in a loose tunic shirt and a pair of brown pants with the suspenders left to dangle around his hips. He had dirt smudged on his hands and potted plant in one hand.

“Yes, can I help you?”

“Kili, and Fili. At your service.” They said in unison and bowed. “You must be Mister Boggins.” Kili stepped across the threshold and took off his weapons, looking from the plant in Bilbo’s hand back to his face expectantly.

“Do I know you?” The hobbit asked as he set aside the pot and took Kili’s weapons from him.

“Shouldn’t think so. We’re here for the party.”

“Party, what party, there’s no party here I assure you.”

“I’m quite sure we’ve got the right address, Mister Boggins, this is the place Gandalf said to meet.” Fili said, handing over his own weapons. “Careful with those, I just had them sharpened.”

The hobbit’s jaw twitched and he shook his head firmly. Kili noticed a bead dancing about in his hair. He hadn’t seen many hobbits with hair decorations, but then, Kili hadn’t seen many hobbits at all.

“That interfering wizard,” the hobbit muttered as he set aside the weapons on box in the foyer.

“Mister Boggins,”

“I’m not mister Boggins. There is no mister Boggins at this residence.”

Kili held out his hands. “I’m so dreadfully sorry, Miss. We had a note that said a mister Boggins lived here. Hobbits don’t gender their braids do they. I’d never had made that mistake.”

The hobbit looked at him. “Dwarrow gender their braids?” She shook her head and waved a hand. “My name is Bilbo Baggins. Mister, Bilbo Baggins.”

Kili felt his face burn and bowed again. “It’s wonderful to meet you Mister Baggins. And yes, braids are one of the fastest ways to show our identity.” He blushed. “I only have my family braids in.”

“What my brother is trying to say is that we were supposed to meet a Mister Boggins at this address.” Fili filled in.

“Well, that is going to be rather difficult. I live here. There is no such name as Boggins in the shire. And my guess is that ridiculous wizard misspelled my name. Which I would very much like to know why she would have given it to you in the first place.” Mr Baggins said and went into the kitchen. “I’m not prepared at all for company but I can at least offer you some ale.”

“But didn’t Gandalf tell you to expect us?” Kili followed the hobbit through to the kitchen looking around the little house. It reminded him a burrow, all corridors and rounded walls.

“No, she didn’t” he said washing his hands in the sink. “All she mentioned was about going on an adventure. She did not tell me she had offered my home for a party.” Bilbo turned around to face him. “Just how many of you should I expect?”

“Thirteen. Gandalf should be here as well but adad says you can’t ever trust a wizard’s intentions. Which is why we need a fourteenth member, for luck.”

“I’m not some bloody lucky charm,” the hobbit groused. “You said thirteen. I don’t have nearly enough prepared for that many dwarves.”

“Gandalf said there would be plenty of food.”

“The pantries are full, but nothing is prepared. It’s all just odds and ends. Are you offering your services as cooks? Or am I to be inundated with dwarrow in a few minutes?” The hobbit filled two cups with ale and handed them over.

“Fili can cook. I can’t do much better than burn water.” Kili supplied. “We arrived early. And it’s a good thing we did if you didn’t know to expect us.”

“Some warning is better than none, I suppose.” Mister Baggins sniffed. “Well, there’s nothing for it. I’m sure you can’t just send a message to tell them it’s canceled, right. So, you’re going to help me. Fili is it? Take your coat off, I have an apron for you. We’re going to cook. Kili, you’re going to set up the table and then I’m going to show you where to lock away the stuff I don’t wish to see broken. And don’t give me that look, I’ve had enough hobbit parties in my time, if your companions are anything like my family, it’s just good sense.”

Kili quaffed his ale and set the mug aside as Bilbo set to run the show. He had Fi in an apron faster than amad could and had him chopping vegetables in a trice. Once that was set up he showed Kili where the dining room was and where to get the extra chairs.

He did as he was told and set up the table to fit all of them and then set about putting the items Bilbo didn’t want broken into what looked like his office. He set the few breakable items down and looked about the room. He’d come here early for a purpose, to find out if this hobbit had been the one to hurt Thorin’s one. Aside from being rather cantankerous, Mister Baggins wasn’t a bad bloke. He hoped very much Mister Baggins wasn’t the horrible hobbit that had hurt his uncle. He seemed very interested in getting Kili’s pronouns right while they were setting up the dinner table. Kili didn’t hadn’t had anyone ask his pronouns since he’d left Ered Luin.

Two pictures hung on the wall in the office and he stepped over to get a closer look. The hobbit with the long dark hair looked familiar, and it took him several moments to place her.

“Ah, there you are. That’s my mother.”

“I remember her,” Kili said with a smile, looking back to the painting.

“I don’t think that’s likely, Kili, she –died— many years ago.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that.” He said and sighed. “I’m seventy-seven, Mister Baggins. How old do you think I am?”

Mister Baggins blinked. “You look barely older than a tween. I’m sorry lad, I assumed you were still in your twenties.”

“What’s your mother’s name?” Kili asked, curious.

“Belladonna,” he said.

Kili beamed. “I do remember her.

“I was just a dwarfling at the time, barely twenty then, but I do remember my mother bringing two halflings into our home for a few days. They said they’d been travelling, wanted to go on a grand adventure. We don’t often see outsiders in Ered Luin, your mother and her brother I believe were the talk of the entire mountain for a few weeks.”

Kili looked over to Bilbo and noticed the pinched expression on his face. “I’m sorry Mister Baggins, did I say something to upset you?”

Bilbo shook his head. “I’m fine. I just don’t hear many stories of my mother’s adventures. Not many around here know them or are willing to share. Adventuring is frowned upon by the _good_ folk around here.”

“She was brilliant, Mister Baggins, she picked up my pronouns very quickly. Even the traders amad dealt with all the time didn’t do that.”

Bilbo let out a snort. “That’s common decency, Kili. I take it you haven’t been out of the mountain very much? Your experiences haven’t been all that ideal.”

Kili shook his head and followed Bilbo out of the room. “No, you’re the first one I’ve met that has even bothered to not make an assumption. I mean most assume I’m a dwarrow because of my beard, but then I have to ask them something and they start acting weird.”

“I wish I could say it gets better, Kili. Perhaps someday.”

Kili nodded. “I’m going to see if Fili needs a hand, did you want any more help here?”

Bilbo shook his head and Kili headed back toward the kitchen where Fili shot him an angry look. “ _Fili can cook, I just burn water_ _._ You’re an ass you know that.”

Kili giggled. “If I said we both could cook; I wouldn’t have been able to look around the place.”

“Well,” Fili said, ladle in one hand. “Did you find anything? Don’t leave me waiting.”

“Just uncles’ maker’s mark all over the place. Sconces, a few chandeliers, the locks on the back door.” Kili said slyly.

“I found a couple here on some of the copper pots. But indâd was a blacksmith in the area. Any number of hobbits could have that mark in their house.”

“What about a dagger?” Kili asked.

“What do you mean what about a dagger? What dagger?”

“There’s one in his study. It’s not locked up or anything, but it’s definitely something indâd made. Saw his mark. And a few other glyphs.”

Fili looked behind Kili to the foyer. “So this is the hobbit, he’s the one that hurt indad’s One.” Fili gripped the ladle tighter in his hand and Kili worried he might break it.

“I’m not sure but I don’t think this hobbit is the one who hurt indad’s. He’s too nice.”

“There are lots of nice people out there. Charming murderers.” Fili whispered. “The rumours about halflings could be a smoke screen.”

“No, it’s not that Fi. I think he’s, well I think he might be innocent in all of it.” Kili whispered vehemently. He didn’t have anything to back it up other than a feeling in his gut, but this hobbit couldn’t have hurt Thorin’s One, and he was going to prove it. If he didn’t, Fili and the others weren’t likely to let Gandalf’s agent survive long.

 

*

Dwalin arrived in Hobbiton that afternoon, with the sun high and a crowd of hobbits still gathering in the market. He took a room in the Green Dragon Inn and scrubbed the dust from the road off himself and his clothes. He had never spent much time in the Shire. He was used to Bree and cities of Men where the inhabitants glared at him from above. The scared and horrified glances he received in the Shire while not new, were oddly disconcerting coming from beings smaller than he.

He had some time left to himself before he was required to head up to the house of Gandalf’s agent. Whoever this Mr Borgens was, Dwalin had reservations. He lived in a dead hobbits family home. He had assumed that the Borgens fellow was a relative of Thorin’s One. But after much prodding on his part Thorin had admitted that there was no relation, this hobbit was a stranger. No dwarrow would take over someone else’s home like that, and it didn’t sit right with Dwalin. He was even less pleased when he spotted Thorin, his friend and brother, hiding in the back of the Inn.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Dwalin said as he took a seat across from the dwarf. Thorin shot him a glare and Dwalin was struck by the contempt Thorin conveyed. Thorin wasn’t like many dwarves, since the battles in his youth he had kept a tight rein on his emotions, putting duty first. Everything about Thorin bristled now, the careful control he prided himself on had fled. It bothered him. Dwalin did what he did best; he annoyed Thorin.

“Talk or don’t talk, Thorin. It makes no never mind to me.” Dwalin continued.

Thorin grunted. “Did Dis send you early to come find me.”

“She’s good, nadad. But she’s not that good. You gave her the slip in Emyn Uial. What are you doing here early?” Dwalin asked. “Have you gone up to his house?”

“Smial,” Thorin corrected automatically and shook his head. “No, I-I can’t. I know what you’re going to say. But I have to rethink all of our plans. I – hadn’t truly expected the council to refuse me completely.”

“Not even Dain could help?” Dwalin asked, he had gotten some of the news from Dis the night before, but she hadn’t mentioned their cousin.

“His hands are tied. The Iron Hills are dependent on the Orocani and the Grey Mountains too much to buck their decisions openly.” Thorin said. “Aligning with me more obviously could destroy the livelihood in the Iron Hills. I won’t put Dain through that.”

“No you’ll just run off across Middle Earth with thirteen dwarves. A number so unlucky Oin won’t even write it down. Won’t even include it when he’s counting.” Dwalin snorted. “Ruined all of Balin’s counts until he figured out what was happening.” He settled in the chair and took the untouched tankard of ale in front of Thorin and took a swallow. “Had you listened to my suggestion regarding Dis-“

Thorin cut him off and took the tankard from him. “Dis and I discussed it. She has a better handle on the politics of ruling Ered Luin, and she’ll be there to keep our people safe, and maintain the peace.”

“Aye and well I know it. But I will miss her sword arm. We’ve got five warriors, including yourself. Some of the others have training, but they’re merchants, or miners.

“She’d also help me keep you in line and tell you that you were acting like a fool right now.”

Thorin inclined his head but he didn’t smile, not even a quick curve of his lips. Dwalin hated hobbits more than even Orcs in that moment. They’d managed to do what not even Azanulbizar had tried. Dwalin shook his head and stood.

“Well, I better be off. I’ll have a look around the place and then see about this Borgen fellow. If I don’t like him, if I cannae trust him, I don’t care what Gandalf says, he’s not coming. I’ll fetch my wife for our fourteenth so help me. Then you’ll have the both of us worrying over ye.”

“Your concern is appreciated, but you know as well as I do whatever Gandalf’s reasons are for including this hobbit of hers, our opinion matters little, she sees things we can’t and with good reason. These hobbits will not hurt us, but you are not going to take my word for it. Do what you must, friend. I will join you later.”

Dwalin nodded. “And how much later is that?”

“Let them enjoy the meal and company for one night. My presence will remind them of our mission and add too much sobriety to a night they should enjoy.”

Dwalin let out a breath and nodded. It wouldn’t do to argue the point, wouldn’t do to remind Thorin that he had the right to enjoy himself as well. He said nothing and left the Inn. Most of the stalls from the market were empty now and the sun was sinking, another hour before full sunset. That gave him just enough time to have a reconnoitre of the hill where the hobbit lived.

Thorin didn’t believe the hobbits would hurt them. Dwalin was damn sure they couldn’t in a fight, but, that didn’t mean they didn’t have ways and means of attempting such. Who knew what magics these hobbits maintained. Hidden away in their little valley.

Once he had done a full circuit of the hill he made his way to the house at the top. It looked like little more than a burrow, not a proper dwelling under stone.

He stood in front of the green door with Gandalf’s mark glowing in the fading light of the evening, and rapped on the door. He barely got the second knock out, his hand hovering against the door when it was opened quickly and a small fussy looking creature looked up at him.

“You must be Mister Dwalin,” the halfling said. “The boys said you’d be arriving first. Take your shoes off, I’ll not have muck trod into the house, thank you very much.”

Dwalin stood staring at the creature and blinked. “Dwalin, at your service.” He said finally.

“Bilbo Baggins, at yours. The shoes please.”

“Is this the right address? I was looking for a Mr Borgens.” Dwalin asked. If that wizard had screwed up the address as well, he was going to find her and tear her apart. He didn’t care which Valar he pissed off.  

“No, no, I am Mister Baggins, this is my home and you are not in the wrong place. Now please, leave your boots outside and come inside.”

Dwalin took his boots off and they were quickly taken from him and set next to two pairs of very familiar boots. “I’m not the first to arrive I see.”

“No, you’re not, and it’s a good thing too. Don’t scowl like that. You’ve probably already terrified half the residents of the shire – or so I hope. Here let me take your cloak? I don’t really have a place to store your weapons, Kili is putting them in the office, so he’ll show you.”

Dwalin handed over his cloak and just stared at the small creature as he prattled on then left him alone in the foyer. Kili poked his head around the corner and had the decency to blush.

“You two were supposed to wait for me.”

“We were.”

“Ye didn’t.”

“We didn’t.”

Kili didn’t offer anything further, just stared at his fingernails and chewed his bottom lip. “How long have you been here?”

“Since early this afternoon, Fili’s been helping with the cooking and I’ve been helping to set up. He  -- the hobbit -- had no idea we were coming. Gandalf never told him to expect us.”

“Talk while you show me where to put this.” Dwalin removed his weapons and followed Kili deeper into the house and into the office. Fili’s and Kili’s weapons were already set aside and Dwalin added his to the lot. “You have no idea how dangerous it was coming here on your own. Any number of things could have happened.”

“Adad, he’s a hobbit. They’re not warriors. Fili and I can take care of ourselves.”

“There’s plenty of other ways to kill than with a sword or an axe, Kili. These hobbits might not be warriors but they could be worse. Much worse. You two could have been poisoned—“

“Adad, I think he’s Indâd’s one.” Kili interrupted.

Dwalin smiled sadly. “Kili, I know you want him to be alive. You’re worried for your uncle, and it’s admirable. But that’s just not the case.” He said and cuffed him gently. “You and your brother need to be more careful. The two of you are princes, and heirs. You have to start thinking about that.”

“Listen, I’m serious, look at the dagger. That’s his maker’s mark.” Kili said. He went over to a wooden case that rested on a table in the corner. The case and contents were dusty, as if it had been set in the room and forgotten. The dagger inside was clearly mithril and it did have Thorin’s mark on it.

The glyphs for marriage and courtship stood out and Dwalin stared at the dust that coated it. It had been put in the room and forgotten, only kept as a relic. He clenched his fists and shook his head. “No, Kili,” He said. “His One is dead and this Mister Baggins has benefited from it. Worse yet, I think he’s one of those foul relatives Thorin had spoken of.”

Kili groaned. “I knew it. You and Fili think the same thing.”

“Aye well, we’re right. If this was his One he wouldn’t still be here, he wouldn’t have left such a piece to be forgotten.”

Dwalin shook his head sadly and grabbed Kili in a quick embrace. “I know you want to help. We’ll figure out what’s happening here. If this Mister Baggins is innocent, we’ll not hurt him. If he’s not…”

“I said I’d set the table.” Kili interrupted. Dwalin could hear the disappointment in his voice. He wanted to tell Kili it would be all right, and he hated that he had to remove that last bit of hope, but Kili needed to learn, needed to know that sometimes no matter how much you wish for something it doesn’t come true.

“He made your favourite. Gingersnap cookies.” Kili said as he left the room.

*

//” You keep reading that thing you’re going to end up changing it again.”// Bifur said. //”Put it away, it’s finished. Not like you can change anything in it now.”//

Balin grunted and put the contract back in his coat. “I’m not going to change anything in it.” He said. “I was just making sure the wording was right on the indemnification sections.”

Bifur laughed and tucked his whittling knife away. //”We’re in the Shire. There’s not a lawyer around with enough know how to get out of it. You worry too much. Thorin’s safe.”//

He took the reins from Balin’s hand and placed the toy he had finished in it’s place. It was a simple dwarven figurine with a pair of glasses perched on his nose looking over a sheaf of paper. Unpainted, it looked like any of the number he’d finished before. Bifur left with both ponies to deposit them in the stable.

//“It will be ‘you’ when I can afford the paints for it,”// He said.

“I have not been looking at the contract that long, you confounded old dwarf.”

Bifur returned from the stable to see Balin staring down at his likeness, a fond smile touched his husband’s lips even if he didn’t admit to it.

//”You’ve looked at it so much I don’t remember what your face looks like without that contract near it. Shall I wait here at the Inn for the rest of the party and come up with them?”//

Balin shook his head. “No, come with me, it’s getting late. You read people better anyway. I’d like your impression of this Mister Brackens.”

//”Thought his name was Boffins.”//

“That’s that sibling of yours. It’s mister Brackens, I’ve read it myself more than enough to know.”

They had walked up the hill while talking and only stopped when they found the sign on the Green door at the top.

// “Yet you only refer to him as Burglar in the contract.”// Bifur said, knocking before Balin could say more.

The door opened revealing the hobbit in question. His eyes went wide and he stared at Bifur and blinked several times. “Oh dear me, does that hurt?” He shook his head. “You’re here for the party, yes? My name is Bilbo Baggins, not Borgens or Boggins, or whatever else you’ve managed to glean from  Gandalf’s atrocious writing. Leave your shoes here. No, I don’t care if you think your feet stink, Fili tried that already and it doesn’t work. Kili is putting the weapons away.”

//”He doesn’t cower, that’s a good sign.”//

//He’s met the boys and not run screaming for the hills. I’ve yet to decide what kind of sign that is.”// Balin turned to the hobbit and bowed. “Balin at your service, and this is my husband, Bifur.”

Balin and Bifur stepped into the foyer, from the doorway he spotted a familiar face he hadn’t seen in years. “Dwalin!” Balin closed the distance and knocked foreheads with his brother. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“As are you,nadad. You’re getting fat I see. Marriage is doing well for ye.”

“I could say the same for you, ya daft bugger. Each time I come home, I miss _you_ but there’s another child running around.”

“Aye, the wee one is turning three.” Dwalin said. Balin could see the pride shining through, but it was dimmed somewhat. He looked at his brother shrewdly and switched to Khuzdul.

//”What has you pensive, brother?”//

//”It’s just suspicion right now, I’ve no proof of it. But I think our host had a hand to play in the death our leader’s One.”//Dwalin said with a grunt.

//”That is a serious claim, brother.”//

//”Aye it is. All I’ve got is a dusty knife to show for it. But from what I can tell this hobbit has lived here for years. Thorin’s maker’s mark is all over the place. Especially that blade. He never said he made him a marriage dagger, but it’s in that hobbit’s office. I don’t like it, Balin.”//

Balin pursed his lips and nodded. //”We’ll wait for the others. Bifur and his sibling can keep the hobbit distracted and we’ll have a proper search.”//

//”Good. Mayhap they can keep Kili with them. He’s a soft sort and wants to see the best in everyone.”//

//”Including this hobbit?”//

Dwalin shrugged as offered Balin an incredulous look. //”He’s a romantic, he believes the hobbit might be his uncle’s One. He wants so much to make Thorin happy he’s willing to ignore the other signs.”//

//”Bifur can keep the lad entertained. We’ll get to the bottom of this, though I don’t think Tharkuna is going to be pleased.”//

Dwalin scoffed and shook his head. //”Let her bluster, if this hobbit had anything to do with that poor fellow’s murder, I want his head rolling down that hill by tomorrow.”//

*

There was yet another knock on the front door. Bilbo sighed and wondered why dwarves felt the need to stagger their entrances. Perhaps Kili had an idea. It didn’t matter, he just hoped that now would be the end of the knocking, end of the introductions. An end to ‘No that’s not my name, my name is…’

He really needed to get a look at Gandalf’s writing, how one person could screw up his name so badly was beyond him. “Fili there’s another cask of ale down in the cellar if you and your brother could fetch it, thank you.” He said setting the keg he’d brought in down.

He at least had a system down. He opened his front door and stepped out of the way as several dwarves fell into his foyer. “Is this all of you?” he counted and sighed of course it wasn’t. Leave it to Gandalf. “Very well, I’m Bilbo Baggins, not Borgens or Bragens or whatever else you’ve managed to decipher. Leave your shoes on the porch.” He hurried the dwarves inside. The rumours would be unbelievable on the morrow. Mad Baggins associating with dwarves again.

Just what he bloody needed now that the old rumours had finally begun to fade. He’d have to deal with nosy relatives and the like coming for tea and asking after his health and why he didn’t just find a nice _lass_ to settle down with. Telling them anything other than he liked his privacy only led to lectures about propriety and how he couldn’t have it both ways.

The shire hadn’t changed a whit. So he’d changed and now the past was barging into his nice comfortable life and reminding him about how things could be different.

It was entirely too much to handle sober. He needed a drink.

Several.

He went to the wine cellar and found an old bottle of dorwinion wine he’d been saving for a special occasion. Since crying in the bathtub was out, might as well have it here. He unstoppered the cork and had a nice big swig of it there in the cellar. He had two more before he left to rejoin the dwarves as they turned his smial into a mad house.

Several of the dwarves were giving him odd looks. The young blond one, and the large bald one especially. But now they were joined by others and while they all seemed at least somewhat polite they were standoffish, secretive, and had an awful habit of jumping apart when he walked into a room.

“Whatcha got there?”

Bilbo looked up from pouring a second, perhaps third, glass of wine for himself to see a hatted dwarf in doorway. “Just pouring myself a glass of wine. Ease the nerves a bit.”

“Aye, they’re a rambunctious folk, but they mean well. Loyal to a fault the lot of them.”

“Aren’t all dwarves?” Bilbo asked, the wine might have been making him a little looser with his tongue. Not that cared. Regret was for the morning. For now, there was wine and plenty of it. Better wine than memories.

“Have ye met many dwarves in your time Mister Baggins?”

Not enough wine in all of Middle Earth for that question. He finished his glass and poured another. “Long time ago.” He hedged. He should slow down with the wine, Elrond’s wines always went to his head fast. Didn’t help he’d lost count of his glasses. “Seemed a very loyal sort.”

“Dwarves have to be loyal,” Kili said as he bounced into the room. The boy was way too eager in Bilbo’s opinion, but he was young yet. “It’s in our blood.”

The hatted dwarf laughed. “You are young yet, my boy.”

“But Bofur, it’s true, we’re born to be loyal to our families and our people.” Kili said fervently. “It’s even more important since the Fall of Erebor. We have to be there for each other.”

“Ugh. By all that is green, you even bloody sound like him,” Bilbo said mulishly. He was most certainly pouting into his wine glass. Middle aged bachelor hobbits did not pout into their wine because an upstart dwarf reminded them of a dead lover. Both dwarves were looking at him funnily, better change the subject.

“Your braids Bofur. I’m sure this is terribly rude of me, and if it is I do apologize. But I was wondering. Well, Kili mentioned that braids mean certain things? I’m terribly confused on the whole thing, I thought braids were only for courtship or something similar.” He was rambling and he was playing with the bead in his hair again. He removed his fingers from his hair and refilled his glass to keep his hands busy.

“Braids? Oh well, yes braids mean lots of things. There are family braids, and courtship braids, marriage braids, and even braids that denote gender or lack thereof.”

“Lack thereof? Dear me wouldn’t that send the hobbits around here in a tizzy.” Bilbo said. He held up the half empty bottle of wine. “I’m being rude, would you like some?”

“I’d love a glass actually,” the dwarf said taking a seat at the table. “Hobbits don’t have different genders, Mister Baggins? Seems awful suspicious to me.”

Bilbo poured one, looked at Kili in question then poured him a mug of ale. “You don’t look like the wine sort, my boy. Not yet anyway. I don’t care for it myself, or at least the crap they pass around here. I happen to have a good friend and I raid his wine cellar whenever I visit. It’s become a game.

“I’m sure we have as many genders as there are flowers, Bofur. Just as I’m sure the assholes who run the Shirrif’s office hate to acknowledge anything of the sort.” Bilbo said. “Nope, they barely tolerate myself and the few others that I’ve been helping. Of course, if it weren’t for the elves, I’d have been in a sorry state, mind you.”

Both dwarves looked at him and Bilbo squinted. “Don’t you dare pity me.” He said. “I don’t like to be pitied. I know it’s different where you come from. You and elves seem to have a more forgiving view of things. Even your women can own property and businesses. I’ve done what I could to help those like me, no bloody thanks to those interfering, nosy, no good, selfish, blundering, fools in office.”

“No, not pity, Mister Baggins,” Bofur said quietly. “I know other places aren’t like our homes. I’ve lived in many a place between Ered Luin and the Ered Mithrin. I know what you speak. I just thought hobbits were a bit better than Men is all.”

“Nope, dreadful, buggering creatures the lot of them.” Bilbo confirmed. He looked over to Kili and tilted his head. Maybe he’d had too much wine but the boy looked near to tears. “You all right there, Kili? I seem to be a little into my cups. Elven wine does that to me.” He peered into the other rooms. “I’m being a dreadful host. Not that I care, Gandalf’s the entire reason for this mess. She can host.”

“I didn’t know you were like me, Mister Baggins. I’m dreadfully sorry about earlier.” He said in a rush. “Ever since I left the mountain I’ve been having trouble telling everyone apart. I know it doesn’t matter, but Westron doesn’t have a decent neutral pronoun and it’s just been harder since I left.”

“You’ve the right of it there, lad.” Bofur said. “Westron is useless for neutral anything.”

Bilbo found it hard to keep up with both of the dwarves even though he was sure the conversation wasn’t all that complicated. “Well, I’m bloody confused. And possibly drunk. Personally, I’m not all the disappointed about the latter. I don’t like being confused though. Why are dwarves so confusing?

“You two are confusing. All your friends out there are confusing. They keep giving me dirty looks. I don’t care if Gandalf said you could use my smial for a party. Had Kili not shown up when he did I wouldn’t have had anything. Just be glad there’s enough stew and I had time to spit a few pigs on the outdoor fire.

“I’m tired of being confused by dwarves. If one of you reminds me of him one more time I’m liable to scream.” He finished off his glass and poured another. “You especially Kili. Don’t keep looking at me with those doe eyes of yours. You don’t even have the same eye colour and you manage to remind me of him.” He stared down at the dark red of the wine in his glass. “I really shouldn’t have drunk this much.”

“Mister Baggins, you’re rambling a bit there. Who do we remind ye of?” Bofur asked.

Bilbo shook his head; he hadn’t uttered Thorin’s name out loud in over a decade. He rubbed at his chest with his right hand and gulped down the wine in his glass quickly. “It doesn’t matter, he’s dead.” He whispered. “It’s not your fault. I know it’s not your fault. But I haven’t seen a dwarf in these parts in a very long time. And I’m apparently not strong enough to handle the memories tonight.”

He felt the seat dip as Kili sat down next to him. He almost, just almost smelled like him. The same soap, the same leather and horse, a hint of salt wind underneath it all.

“Ye had a dwarf lover?” Bofur asked softly.

“He called me his One. Used to work here for years, and then one year he left, and I never heard from him again. Business had been awful here, and my family had made it very difficult for him, for both of us.

“I don’t know what happened to him. I know my family did everything they could keep us apart. I haven’t felt him for years. Which is silly, hobbits don’t have Ones. Not like you dwarves.  Still, I knew when he was gone. Don’t think my heart has really recovered since.” He blinked blearily and looked around. He and Kili were the only ones left, and Bilbo thought he saw a hat disappear around a corner. “I’ve truly had too much wine. Where did Bofur go?”

“Mister Baggins,” Kili started. “Do you know who leads our company?”

“Now why would I know that?”

“He’s my uncle.” Kili said. “He’s a great dwarf. He’s worked so hard for us all these years. You see, his father and grandfather before him were Kings. We come from a long line of descended directly from Durin himself.”

“Does that make you a prince?” Bilbo asked trying to follow the flow of what Kili was saying. It was dreadfully difficult, and he really hoped the dwarf would get to the point.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking. My brother, Fili is the heir. Uncle has been king for many years now. Since he was very young. And he’s been leading our people in Ered Luin for many many years. But now we’re going to try and go home.”

“Ered Luin is not your home? I thought dwarves always lived there.”

“No, not always. Our people had to run. We fled the east when a dragon came down and destroyed our home. It burnt the forest off the mountain and killed many dwarves. Those families that survived followed my uncle to the Ered Luin. And there he has reigned since. He’s a brilliant dwarf.”

“I’m sure he is. I still don’t know what that has to do with me.” Bilbo held up his hand. “It’s quite all right Kili, you don’t have to sell yourself and the company.” Bilbo tried to turn to look at the dwarf, but he really did look remarkably like Thorin and it was truly unfair that this dwarf could embody so much of his dwarf.

Kili’s hair and his voice and his youth were out of place surely. It was only in the small things where they became too similar. His conviction about the innate goodness in others, especially dwarves. His smile. Valar damn him but Kili had Thorin’s smile. Both the surprised joyful expression that took over his whole face, but also the half turn of his lips, the little quirk.

Bilbo poked Kili in the shoulder. “Stop looking like him.” He said grouchy. “You are hereby no longer allowed to look like him.”

Kili laughed. That was even worse.

“Or laugh like him either.” Bilbo sighed. “I don’t have nearly enough wine for this. For you and your—“ he waved his hands at Kili’s entire form and made a disgusted sound. “It’s quite rude of you, really. Quite rude. I know he’s dead. I felt it. Hobbits don’t even have Ones, but I woke up that night and felt my heart snap clear in two. Leave it to me to be odd even in that respect.”

“But Mister Baggins. I’m trying to tell you.”

“Yes, yes, your uncle is fantastic, he’s a King. He’s the best sort of dwarf ever. Can he bring my dwarf back? Can he go to the halls of Mandos and beg for my dwarf to come back to me? No? I didn’t think so. And it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“He left me. He didn’t even want me.”

“That’s not true, Mister Baggins!”

“Oh and what do you know of it?” Bilbo snapped. “Nothing, that’s right. I was left here all alone. My family had abandoned me, my friends were few and far between. He was the only one I had. The only one I counted on! And he left. He ran out of the Shire as quick as you please once things got difficult. Sure there might have been letters, but did I get them? _noooo_ I didn’t see any of them. Not a single one.

“He could have come back. He could have done anything but no he didn’t. He just wrote, and then nothing. Left me alone; friendless. My family was fit to put me in a dress and marry me off I’ll have you know. Oh they don’t talk about it, but they damn well had their moments. I know what they were up to before I left. Hamfast is a good sort and he told me all the tricks they tried while I was gone.”

Bilbo could feel his temper snapping, his shoulders were tight, and he could barely hold a thought for how angry he was. One thing kept running through his head over and over. Not worthy. Not good enough.

“Mister Baggins please.”

“No, I’m sick and tired of carrying a torch for that dwarf. He’s dead and gone. He’s not coming back to me. No matter how much I wish it.”

“But Mister Baggins, he’s not dead.”

“Don’t know why I wish such things anyway. Horrible dwarf left me here. Had I not left and gone with the elves I would have been stuffed in a dress and married off to some bloke to fill this house with children! Do you know what that’s like? Do you really know what it’s like, to see your uncles and your aunts and your family stare at you like you’re some kind of thing? Do you?

“You had the luck of being born a dwarf. You lot have your stones and your families all know what’s what. They wouldn’t force you to wear something you can’t bear the thought of. They wouldn’t hide your mail and keep you in the dark for a decade or more only to feel your heart snap.”

He was well and truly gone. He couldn’t stop talking. He couldn’t hold back the anger, guilt and sorrow that had plagued him for eighteen years.

“But Mister Baggins. Your One, he’s not dead.”

“Oh and I suppose you’re going to tell me you just happen to know of the dwarf who smithed in the Shire two decades ago? Hmmm?”

“Well yes I do. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you Mister Baggins. He’s my uncle.”

Bilbo laughed. He couldn’t stop himself. There wasn’t any humour in it, and Bilbo was quite sure he had become hysterical, but he really couldn’t stop laughing at the idea of Kili’s uncle being the dwarf that had smithed all those years ago. It was ridiculous. A king lowering himself to that of a commoner and becoming a smith.

“Hobbits don’t put much stock in titles, but that is going a bit far, Kili. Your uncle was never here. You seem like a sweet lad, and I’m being dreadfully rude by dropping all of this on you.  Excuse me I need to go to the loo. To freshen up, or vomit, or cry. I haven’t decided yet.” He grabbed the mostly empty bottle of wine. “This should help.”

He turned and wandered through the halls avoiding the other dwarves as only he could by nipping through the secret entrance to his office. The young dwarf he had traumatized followed him. Drat him. Drat him to the void and back.

“Mister Baggins, please you need to listen. Really my uncle is a king, he’s a good dwarf. He’s magnificent. I know he’s your One.”

“He’s not Kili. Leave it.” Bilbo snapped. Wine bottle in one hand, he looked around and found his dagger. “This was not created by a king. Oh it’s certainly well made. One of the best things I’ve ever seen in my life. But it was not made by the hands of a king. It was—it was not made for me by a king. I’m a titleless hobbit, an outsider. Not a king’s One. My Thorin is dead, boy. Now just stop it.”

“But he’s not dead.”

“Leave it.” Bilbo dodged around the boy and fled his office. He continued deeper into the smial, finishing off the last of the wine in the bottle in three large swallows. The alcohol hit hard. He’d had too much wine and not nearly enough food, but it made his memories easier to handle, if only just bearable.

“Thorin Oakenshield, my uncle, is not dead.”

*

Thorin needed to go up to the smial. He needed to face this agent of Gandalf’s and get it over with. He hadn’t left the relative safety of the Green Dragon since the early morning and had been steadily drinking since. The hobbit wine sold at the Inn was pathetically weak. They hadn’t gotten any better at wine in the last eighteen years, it seemed.

Still it was cowardice that kept him in the Inn. Hiding away, waiting for the sign that Dwalin and the others had somehow discovered that Gandalf’s agent was in fact responsible for his One’s death and then he could have an outlet for his pain.

That still hadn’t happened and the sun had long since set. He was late and he knew it. He didn’t want to go up there, he didn’t want to smell the grass on the air. He didn’t want to be reminded of the lemon cakes he ate in that kitchen. He didn’t want to have those memories while he stared at a strange, weak, hobbit.

Thorin was contemplating another glass of wine when Dwalin arrived and stood in front of him. “Oh you’re here. Excellent. Have you killed him? Do we need to host a tribunal?” He asked only partly mocking.

Dwalin didn’t speak at first and Thorin looked closer at his friend and brother. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Aye, well, I feel like I have.” Dwalin said. “Thorin we’ve been trying to put everything together. Your mark is all over that house.”

“I fixed half the fixtures, replaced the rest. I lived there for ten years, Dwalin. Of course my mark would be there.”

“I also saw a dagger.”

Thorin felt as if ice water had been poured over him. He gripped the table.

“Ye never told me you’d given him a marriage blade.”

“He didn’t know. I had given it as a birthday gift. I was going to tell him about the glyphs later.” Thorin said even as the wood under his fingers groaned in protest. “How did that hobbit come to possess his dagger?”

“We’d thought he’d had some evil designs on your One. Couldn’t find much evidence of foul play, but we were close to finding something.” Dwalin shook his head. “That part’s not important. Turned out all it took was getting him a bit drunk. Bofur’s the one that found it. And I should have listened to Kili from the get go.”

Thorin shook his head. Whatever Dwalin was dancing around it couldn’t be true. Thorin let out a gasp as pain seared inside his chest, flared once then turned cold as an empty forge. He wobbled as his knees turned to jelly and let out a soft grunt.

“Thorin, it’s him. I don’t know how. But it’s him. He’s alive.”

“No. It’s a lie.” He couldn’t be, he couldn’t be still here where he’d left him. If that was true, then he’d be married and suffering at the hands of another hobbit. He’d have been forced to have children and Mahal knew what else would have happened to him in the last eighteen years; and it would be all Thorin’s fault.

Dwalin gripped Thorin’s shoulders tight. “Your One, Bilbo Baggins is still alive,” he whispered. “He’s alive and well and mourning the death of his ‘dwarven lover’.”

Thorin let out a pained gasp. The hobbits in the room had done a piss poor job of not staring at them, but now they busied themselves with their drinks.

Thorin felt the tankard slip from nerveless fingers and search Dwalin’s face for signs of falsehood. Dwalin wasn’t lying, there wasn’t anything about his stance or the look in his eyes to suggest he was being malicious or cruel, even unintentionally. He truly believe what he was saying.

Bilbo was alive.

He was alive and he was mourning him.

He pushed past Dwalin and made it to the front door before he broke into a run. Once his boots hit dirt he picked up the pace and ran through the market square the up the twisting path toward Bag End. Thorin ignored the scents that assaulted him. The fresh grass, the smell of the flowers, all of them were a bittersweet mix of memory and new hope.

Alive, alive. It thundered in his head like a mantra. He couldn’t believe it. Dwalin had to be wrong, they all had to be wrong. But please, Mahal, let them be right. Let him get this right just once, he prayed as his feet carried him unerringly to the familiar green door.

He spied the mark on it, magicked onto it’s surface. Bilbo would have been so angry at the gall of the wizard to do that. Judging by the sheen, the paint was relatively new. Scratch that, not just angry, pissed off. He ran his fingers through his hair adjusted his braids and tried to adjust his coat, but he was still travel worn and the last eighteen years hadn’t been kind. He wondered if Bilbo would recognize him, if he’d changed too much.

Thorin chided himself for stalling, grabbed the doorknob and opened the door. Light, warmth and the familiar scents of home assaulted him and there was a lightness to his heart he hadn’t felt since he’d last left.

*

Bilbo stopped in the hallway and the heavy bottle fell from his nerveless fingers. He shook his head and dove into the first available room locking the door with snap. There wasn’t a light on in his bedroom, save the light of the moon that filtered through the single window. He lit the sconces on the wall and stepped away from the door shaking his head.

He needed more wine for this. Thorin wasn’t alive. It wasn’t bloody possible. But how did Kili know. How did he pick _that_ name? his uncle was a king, he couldn’t be the same dwarf.

But… what if?

That meant that Thorin was alive. His heart rejoiced. For the briefest of seconds, he felt a familiar flutter. It hurt. Dear Valar, it hurt and he shied away from that pain, that agony, stuffing it down. If Thorin was alive, that meant he’d stopped writing. He’d never bothered to show up in the Shire, and he’d sold the forge without bothering to tell Bilbo at all.

If it was true that Thorin was a king, then Thorin didn’t love him. Bilbo had just been a dalliance. He shook his head and the bead bounced unpleasantly against his head. He shut his eyes against the sting of tears, but they choked him. He gripped the knife in his hand tight. He trembled, alone in his bedroom as the gems on the hilt dug into the palm of his hand.

They did not comfort him as they had in the past. Nothing could, Thorin was either still dead and all of this was an elaborate hoax to remind him he was alone in the world, or worse, Thorin was alive and had grown bored. That had to be the explanation. Dwarven Ones were just a pretty fantasy, a thing they told to outsiders. A pretty tale by the fireside.

He shook his head and the bead bounced against his scalp. He had been so stupid, so naive. Valar he hated his hair, it was always in the way; always a source of contention with the hobbits. The Shirrif’s boys took great umbrage with it, he never should have grown it back after the _last_ time. One more thing that confused the Shire and marked him as an outsider. And all for what? Nothing? He’d been holding onto it out of desperate hope, clinging to that small bead and all it promised. He stared at his reflection drunkenly. Why had he ever let his hair grow so long. He was wrong and stupid, and he should have known better. Should have listened to the others.  

Bilbo had fallen for it. He’d been desperate, alone, and friendless, and a dwarf had come into his life. He had been a simple dwarf. He’d played Bilbo like a bloody harp he’d listened to him, he’d seduced him. When Bilbo’s family had thrown up a stink it had gotten too hard for him to bother. The King had left and gone onto greener pastures.

Bilbo cried out as the blade cut too close to his scalp. He looked into the mirror and through a haze of tears he let out gasp. His hair was a mess. Some sections were still long enough to curl and did so in tight ringlets. In other sections his scalp shone through, bright pale against what was left of his hair. Blood edged the blade, and coated his fingers where he reached to inspect the cut.

It wasn’t especially deep, but scalp wounds bled viciously. The sharpness of the knife cut fast and he didn’t realize he’d cut too deeply until he started bleeding. He lowered his gaze from the mirror, unable to look at the damage he had done and stared at the floor. Curls and tufts of hair were scattered on the floor, more fell to add to the growing pile as he continued to shear bits and pieces off his head. He cut himself twice more and it was still a botched job.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t look in the mirror as he did it. “It’s gone, it’s all gone. He’s not getting it back. He’s not getting me back.” He whispered. “I’ll not be some strumpet. I’ll not be some camp follower.”

The more he whispered, the more he promised himself to be strong, the easier it was to find the anger, to hold onto it and let it warm the hollow place in his heart. He wasn’t going to let whatever had happened hurt him again. If this Thorin really was the one who had hurt him eighteen years ago, if he truly was the one who had left him to fend for himself in the Shire, if he was the one that had turned his back on him the same way his family had; he wasn’t worth Bilbo’s time, he’d get nothing from him. Nothing.

Bilbo wiped the blood from the blade as best he could. His head still bled furiously and there were many patches that were too long. But he couldn’t be bothered. Let them see him like this. Let them know he wasn’t going to follow anyone’s rules again. He was going to be his own hobbit. Make his own decisions and stop living his life in maybes and what ifs.

He unlocked his door and opened it to find Kili hunched and fretful. The young dwarf let out a harsh sound and shook his head, reaching to stop Bilbo’s departure. “No no no no, he’s coming, he’s coming to get –“

“I don’t want to hear it.” He hissed. “It’s none of your concern.”

Bilbo left Kili in the hall and went down to meet the other dwarves. The air in the smial was too cold against his now mostly bare scalp, even several fires going in several rooms wasn’t enough to make him warm. He clenched his fists to keep from touching it. He wouldn’t show weakness here, not now.

A collective horrified gasp met him as he entered the main foyer, but Bilbo’s eyes were trained on his now open front door. There he stood, in all his majesty; and he had the nerve to still be wearing the coat Bilbo had made for him. He took in everything from the boots he wore to the belt, up to his braids and finally those same crystal blue eyes.

Bilbo bent at the waist, never taking his eyes from Thorin’s.

“Greetings, your _majesty_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should just hide yes? 
> 
>  
> 
> Let me know if I'm missing any warnings or need a bigger one for the self harm.


	5. That Fresh Hell of Guilt and Miscommunication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry with my absence in the last month it's been an odd one, and things aren't going to get much better timewise. But I'm back on track with editing and writing so while there might be blips and breaks hopefully none as long as this and if it even looks like I will be make sure to mention [tumblr](mephestopheles.tumblr.com). Feel free to stalk me there. :D 
> 
> As always a big big thank you goes to my best friend and the best beta every Striving Artist. She deserves all the cookies.

Mahal had to be testing Bofur. That was the only explanation for the events they were witnessing unfold. This was payback; this was the Maker smashing them against the anvil of their past.

Bofur knew it was the only explanation; Mahal did love symmetry. But they felt an awful dread and the hairs on the back of their neck prickled. They caught Nori’s unreadable expression and felt sick.

Bofur reacted before anyone and jumped over the table, dragging their host from the line of sight of no less than three angry Durins. Thorin was too shocked to register, and Kili too upset behind Bilbo. But that left Dwalin, Balin and Gloin to pick; none of which Bofur ever wanted to tangle with.

“Aw, Lad, I’m terrible sorry for this mess,” they said.

“Don’t you apologize for a thing! Don’t you start. I will not be pitied. Not because of  _ his fucking highness _ . So stuff your looks and fuck off with your sympathy.” Bilbo snarled.

“No pity from me. I promise ye that,” Bofur confirmed. Oin walked in with his kit behind them.

“Let’s see the damage you’ve done.” The Oracle stated and started turning Bilbo’s head this way and that. The poor creature had done a number on himself. Hair was missing in clumps and long in others. There were several large cuts on the back of his scalp and Bofur winced.

“I’m perfectly capable of seeing to this myself. I don’t want any of your help. I don’t need any of your pity. That, that, that,  _ dwarf _ used me. I’ll not be an object to pity. Not from you and not from anyone else.”

“Stop moving,” Oin groused. “Pity is for the dead, lad. You’re not dead, but ye are bleeding like a bastard. Now let me tend you.”

Oin took out a pot of healing salve and dotted the hobbits head. Bilbo’s face was stony, as if he had just shut down. But Bofur could see the tremor in his hands as if he were trying to rebuild old defences. Bofur knew the uselessness of it; but respected the hobbit all the more for trying. 

“Anything you wish us to relay?”

“Fuck you.”

“If ye say so.”

“I do. I’m sick of dwarves trying to ruin my life.”

Bofur shared a look with Oin and shrugged. It’s not like they could say anything against the poor lad. Whatever happened between he and Thorin, it had to have been bad.

*

Bilbo was alive.

And very angry. But Mahal, he was alive. Thorin took two steps deeper into the smial and the room erupted into chaos as dwarves dragged Bilbo down one hall and took him in the opposite direction. There was scattered yelling, and he was sure he heard Gandalf in the mix.

He tried to push against Balin and Gloin but neither of them budged. “Let me talk to him, Balin. He’s alive. I need to see him.” His heart thundered in his chest and he felt dizzy with it. 

Bilbo was alive.

“Thorin, I’m sorry lad, but ye can’t. No, don’t argue. He’s enacted Kharshukrat and you can’t talk to him.”

“He doesn’t know what that means.”

Gloin made a disgusted noise. “Whether he knows it or not, he took that marriage blade you gave him and sheared his scalp. Did a mess of a job of it too.”

Thorin shook his head and felt a frantic twitch in his chest. From somewhere in the smial he heard Bilbo yelling and he flinched.  The words, ‘his fucking highness,’ rang in his head and he felt his heart skip a beat. 

“He’s not aware of the significance of it.” 

“Seems pretty damn aware of it to me.” Gloin muttered. “Ye should have seen it, Thorin. He had that blade of yours in his office, hidden and covered in a layer of dust so thick I don’t think it had been used in years. Even if ye aren’t prone to defending your home that’s a rotten way to treat such a gift.”

Thorin looked at Balin, helplessly. Balin sighed. “It’s one of the things we saw here tonight. Even if he’s not aware of what he’s done, he’s done it all the same.”

Thorin shook his head and paced the length of the pantry. Occasionally he could hear a yell or curse from the other side of the smial.

“Binsalb khakful sharbrugn.” Gloin muttered under his breath

Thorin growled. “Have a care with your words, cousin. He is still my One, and if he has enacted Kharshukrat, then it is because he is deeply hurting.”

Dwalin rounded the corner and snarled. “He might be yer One, Thorin, but if I ever hear him speak to my son like that again, I’ll not hold back.”

“What did he say? Bilbo’s not cruel, he’d never say anything against anyone.”

“Are ye so sure? Kili is outside and Fili is trying to calm him down. Kili was the only one of us who believed him to be your One. And this is how that Sharbrugn responded. When I find out what was said I’ll-“

“You’ll do nothing,” Balin interrupted. “Kharshukrat has been enacted. Whatever we may believe, whatever pain that hobbit has caused, he is not in control of himself enough right now to be accountable for it. Go, tend to your son.” The elder dwarf smoothed his beard. “Since I’m the only one with a lick of sense here, I’ll be the one to hold council after Mister Baggins has picked his own.

“Now, Thorin, you have another decision to make. And a more important one. Are we going to continue this farce of going after Erebor now that your One still lives?”

Bilbo had hurt Kili. That had to be impossible. Bilbo was sweet, and kind and so gentle. His mind was spinning, his chest hurt and the more he heard from Dwalin and Gloin and the scattered vitriol from down the hall, the less sure he felt of anything.

“Of course we’re going to retake Erebor. Ered Luin is still sinking. I’m not doing this just for Bilbo. I made a promise to my people to see them happy and well. We’re going to do this, Balin.” he paused. “Are you still with me?”

Balin sighed. “I’m with ye lad. We all are. Let’s go get this over with shall we?”

*

Kili didn’t know what was happening. One minute he was telling Bilbo that he needn’t worry, that uncle was alive and not only that he was a great king and now that they were reunited they could go to Erebor together, but the next, the hobbit had left the hall and locked himself in his bedroom.

“What did I say?” He whispered frantically as he raced to the locked door. “Mr. Baggins, please Mr. Baggins, open the door. I apologize, if I upset you. Please open up. I didn’t finish.”

Silence met him on the other side. He looked around him but he was alone in the hallway. Kili felt dread settling in his gut like moldy bread. There was a snick of a lock and Bilbo stormed from the room, his head a mess. Something must have showed on his face and Bilbo snarled at him. He turned away, unable to face the commotion he knew would follow.

Kili walked into the bedroom. There was hair all over the floor, most of it in chunks. Amongst the honey coloured curls, a piece of metal flickered in the light. Kili bent to pick it up and the braid came with it, still attached.

The noise in the house was too much, too loud, and he couldn’t speak with either his uncle or Mr. Baggins; they were being whisked off by the others in the company. He raced outside to the fresh air and away from the cacophony. What had he done? What had he done?”

One minute Bilbo was fine, everything was grand, his uncle’s One was alive. Now Bilbo’s head was shorn and it was all his fault.

“Kee, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not, Fee. Whatever I said, he-“ Kili hiccupped and scrubbed at the tears that started to fall. It was all his fault. Bilbo now thought Thorin had betrayed him. But why?

“Kili, listen to me!”

Kee ignored Fili, pushed out of his brother’s arms and paced the walkway, arms around his chest, the braid clutched tight in his hand.

“What’s goin’ on here?” 

“He won’t talk to me, Dwalin.”

“I’ve got him.”

Kili looked up as Dwalin touched his shoulder and he let out a choked sound. He held up the braid with trembling fingers “It’s all my fault, adad, it’s all my fault. If I had just kept my mouth shut this wouldn’t have happened.”

“Here now, what’s this about it being your fault?” His father’s arms around him and Kili shook his arms. “They’re adults, this isn’t your fault, Kili.”

“But it is. I’m the one who told him Thorin was king, and then he went and cut off his hair. He wouldn’t have done that if I had held my foolish tongue.”

“Your uncle should have told that to Mr. Baggins years ago. He knows that and now he has to face the consequences of that decision.”

“But-“

“Hey, look at me.” Dwalin took Kili’s head in his hands and gently pressed his forehead against Kili’s. “Did he hurt you lad?”

“Who? Mister Baggins?” Kili sniffled and shook his head. “No, I hurt him, adad. He was so sad, I just wanted to make him feel better. You should have heard him, he thought indâd was dead. I wanted to make it better.” He trembled and he felt his father’s arms tighten around him. “I-I ruined everything.”

“No, ye didn’t, lad. I promise ye. All is not lost, Kili. Love never did go smooth with you Durins, and this is no different. Give me the braid. See, the bead’s still attached and the braid has held. Mahal is looking after them both.”

Dwalin hugged him, hard, and Kili felt a fragment of the tightness loosen in his chest. That was a good sign, the braid, he’d saved that, so, yes, perhaps that was good.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. Thorin’s One is alive, that alone is cause for hope, inûdoy. And he hasna hurt you, so that’s another thing in his favour. Come now, we have to figure out our next move. Are you alright, or do you need another minute?”

Kili stepped back and took a shuddering breath. “I- I’ll be okay.”

*

Gandalf watched the escalating scene with ever growing confusion. She didn’t like that one bit. The dwarves left in the main room were huddled together and whispering amongst themselves in a combination of Khuzdul and Iglishmek too fast to piece together and their healer had taken Bilbo down the end of the hall so she couldn’t find out from him what in the void was going on. But Thorin was nearby and by Manwë she was going to find out.

“Oakenshield, what have you done to my burglar?” she hissed, towering over the dwarves in the pantry.

Thorin stood straighter, hands clenched at his side in restrained anger. “Your burglar? You have the gall to come in and call him your burglar? He hasn’t stolen a thing in his life. You knew, you knew he was alive, and you kept that information from me. How dare you wizard. Were you aware that he has been a pariah in his own home? That this place has hated and scorned him?

“Of course you were aware and you’ve chosen to exploit him, like all his kin. You insufferable wizard, if I did not have need of you I would throw you out of this house this instant. Your powers do not frighten me. Not when you choose to exploit my One for your gain.”

Gandalf drew herself up to her full height and shadows lengthened about the pantry. “Have a care, Thorin Son of Thrain, “she said as her voice dropped an octave, “do not presume to know the goings on of wizards.” 

Gandalf sighed, let the magic go, and gave Thorin a sympathetic look. “I am not ignorant of Bilbo’s situation as you assume. Did it ever occur to you perhaps leaving this place might be beneficial for him?

“Whatever is between you fix it, and quickly.”

“Mistress Gandalf,” Balin said, neutrally, “with all due respect, this situation cannot be fixed quickly. Whether Master Baggins realizes it or not he has invoked Kharshukrat and is entitled to have his claim heard and accorded the proper respect.” 

Thorin grunted. “You haven’t told him. You, wizard have not thought to explain to him any of the quest. Do not try to deny it. Had you explained anything, had you thought to include my name at all, this could have been avoided.”

“If you think to blame me for your mista-“

“No, but his hair would have grown out enough by now that we could begin proper dialogue. Or, you could have told me who your agent was instead of keeping his name from me as you callously did.”

“I sent you that missive nine months ago. You had his name, you chose to react the way you did. What would have changed, Thorin?”

Thorin started at her and in a hoarse broken tone he said. “Everything,” and left the pantry.

*

The healer left after they tended to his head. The one with the hat, Bofur, lingered and tried to speak but Bilbo turned his back on them. He didn’t want to deal with any of the dwarves, not right now. 

“Bilbo, did you want to come listen?” 

“What would give you the impression I want to hear _anything_  he has to say?” 

“Gandalf believes you can help.” 

“Help with what? I should think a king would be able to call vast armies at a wave of his majestic hand.” Bilbo said, not turning around.

“Bilbo, our home was destroyed. I don’t know about the armies, but seeing as his highness is here by himself, I don’t think we have one.” 

“Is Ered Luin okay? Are Dis and the children all right?” Bilbo spun around, feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of something befalling Ered Luin. He hadn’t heard of anything befalling the mountain. Bilbo was sure he would have heard something about it from Elrond or the rangers. 

“Not Ered Luin, Bilbo. Erebor was destroyed -- We came to the Blue Mountains after the Lonely Mountain was taken. Gandalf will explain it better. Will you listen to what they have to say? You don’t have to talk to anyone. Please, just listen.” 

He hesitated. He wasn’t sure what prompted him to go with Bofur, but the dwarf hadn’t offered him a bit of pity, which was enough for now. 

“Fine, I’ll listen, but nothing more.” He followed Bofur out into the hall. Everyone was seated and Bofur took the empty spot between the older dwarf with the pointy beard -- Balin -- and the red headed dwarf that kept shooting him angry glances. Bilbo rolled his eyes and looked away from the dwarves. He didn’t catch Gandalf’s eye either. He was going to listen to this farce, whatever it was and then leave the room. 

Thorin still hadn’t looked at him and Bilbo contemplated ringing his fool neck. Arsehole, couldn’t he have told him? Did their ten years together mean nothing? Had Bilbo been so easily forgotten? Bilbo had every right to be angry, ten years and he didn’t even bother to mention once that he was a king? Was everything they shared a lie? 

He ended up catching the eye of the youngest one in the back. They were the smallest, and had purple ribbons braided into their ginger braids. They kept giving him encouraging smiles.  The one with the star shaped hair was pale, and kept giving him furtive glances only to drop their gaze and look back into their mug. Great, so a few of them were pitying him. Bilbo glanced briefly at Kili and felt a stab of pain in his chest. He looked like he’d been crying, obviously so, and his eyes watered looking at Bilbo. The hobbit needed to apologize to him. Something. He’d not meant to take it out on the poor lad.

Bilbo couldn’t do it now and he was very aware of the censorious looks from the large dwarf who liked ginger cookies. Bilbo folded his arms in front of his chest and stayed in the hall. His stomach gave a weak rumble but he ignored it, he needed to know why they were here, and what it had to do with him.

“So the council did not go well I assume?” Balin asked.

“No,” Thorin said, “They say this quest is ours alone.”

“Quest, what quest?” Bilbo asked. He saw Thorin’s shoulder hunch, but the dwarf didn’t answer.

“Ah Bilbo, perhaps we could use a little more light.” Gandalf said.

Bilbo took a lamp from the other room, reached around Thorin and placed it on the table. He tried to catch the dwarf’s eye, but Thorin refused to meet his gaze, staring at the stew he’d been given. Oh, so it’s going to be like that? We’re going to play children. Fine. Stubborn fucking dwarf.

“Far to the East, there lies a lone Mountain, once one of the greater cities of the dwarves.” There were mixed cheers and grumbles as Gandalf explained to Bilbo and he looked down at the table as a map was produced.

“Aye, Oin has read the portents and the portents say, it is time.”

Portents? Really? He didn’t recall Thorin being exceedingly superstitious. He couldn’t ignore the grumbling in his stomach any longer, so he ducked into his pantry to see if they had left him anything. He couldn’t start dealing with portents or other ephemeral things on an empty stomach.

“We don’t even know if the dragon is dead, Thorin.” Balin spoke up over the hubub.

“Dragon?” Bilbo asked, coming back into the hall. “You’re not seriously going after a dragon are you? That’s… that’s madness.” 

Thorin flinched. The hatted dwarf took his pipe from his mouth. “Just a wee dragon.”

“Compared to what?”

“It doesn’t matter. The dragon has sat there for too long. Do you think others haven’t read the signs. We need to get in there and see for ourselves if the dragon is dead. We need to reclaim our home before others turn their gaze on the mountain.” Thorin spoke to those around the table. 

There was a rousing cheer from the collection of dwarves and Bilbo rolled his eyes. “You don’t even know if the dragon is dead?” 

Bofur tapped his pipe and answered for Thorin. “It hasn’t been heard from in sixty years. And believe you me, you’d hear about a dragon razing the land and people around for miles. Smaug used to torment villages nearby and pick people and livestock off as if they were his own personal buffet.”

Bilbo thought he might be sick. “That sounds absolutely awful.”

“I’m not scared,” Ori said. “We’re going to get our home back if I have to march in there and kill it myself.”

“Sit down this instant.” The well coiffed dwarf uttered; Ori blushed but sat quickly.

“The task would have been difficult with an army and we number just thirteen.” Balin commented. “Not thirteen of the best, nor brightest, I might add.”

“Hold it, you’re planning on going after a dragon? Thirteen of you to attack a _dragon? You seriously believe it’s dead. How do you plan on doing it, going through the front door? And what if it’s not dead? Are you going to ask it for tea and then hope it will go find another mountain to squat in?”_

Gandalf cleared her throat and pulled an object from her robes. “The front gates were destroyed by the dragon during the initial attack. But there is another way in.” She said, holding up an old key.

“How did you come by that?” Thorin asked in a harsh, painful whisper. 

Bilbo ducked back, he couldn’t be near Thorin when he spoke like that. He was still angry, and he didn’t want to bleed for him. Thorin had left him, and now he was here in his home with all his kin and they were planning to attack a dragon. Why was he even involved? Thorin didn’t want him, he had yet to look at him or acknowledge him since their rather disastrous reunion.

“Your father gave it to me, along with the map. I’ve been holding it for safekeeping, and now it’s time I give it to you.”

“You keep withholding things from me, wizard.” Thorin whispered, gruff.

Bilbo fidgeted in the doorway as he looked at the map, Gandalf appeared unaffected by Thorin’s comment. The wizard smoothed the map on the table. “There is a secret hidden within this map, one I cannot read... but there are others in Middle Earth who can. With that Key and this map, we should be able to find the secret entrance.”

“Which is why we need a burglar.” Ori said, excitedly.

Bilbo snorted and looked at the map. The runic script was one he had seen plenty of times as he searched through Elrond’s library doing research. “A damn good one I’d imagine,” He muttered. 

“And are you?” The Star haired dwarf asked.

“Am I what?”

“A damn good one?”

“I-I-“ Bilbo stuttered, thrown. He looked over to Gandalf and opened his mouth only to be outmatched as the table erupted in cross conversation.

“What does it matter, we’ll have Gandalf and she’s probably killed loads of dragons in her time.” Kili supplied, excited and obviously overtaken with the adventure of it all.

Bilbo looked over to Gandalf and inclined his head, offering a sarcastic smile that didn’t touch his eyes. Yes, let her come under fire for this. He had questions for Gandalf, many of them indeed. Thorin yelled and Bilbo flinched, the room quieted even as Gandalf played with the shadows in the room.

“If I say Bilbo Baggins is a burglar, then a burglar he is!

“Hobbits are very light on their feet, they can go unseen by most Big Folk if they so choose. And the dragon will be unfamiliar with the scent of hobbits, where he is quite familiar with the scent of dwarves.”

Bilbo balked. “What am I going to do? I haven’t stolen a thing in my life. Unless you want me to just stick it in the eye before it incinerates me.”

“Balin, contract.”

“I don’t think-“

“Contract.”

Bilbo felt a thump against his chest and grabbed the paper from Thorin’s hand. The dwarf was careful not to touch him, and Bilbo felt a stab in his chest. Really, of all the stubborn and stupid things. He unravelled the scroll and read the contract. Most of it was standard contract legalese, the same kind used in tenant contracts. On first reading it was absolutely made in favour of the dwarves and with the intention that if he toed out of line once they could leave him. Maybe even cut out his tongue if he didn’t follow their exact rules. The clauses were detailed and confusing if read too deeply. A surface reading of the contract  was boring, and wasn’t enough to keep his mind off Thorin.

Thorin, who still hadn’t looked at him; whose pipe weed was everywhere because all the dwarves were smoking it. Thorin, whose presence filled the room and eclipsed the other twelve dwarves and made Bilbo’s heart beat too fast. Who was a king, and he was going on a noble fucking quest to reclaim his home. Who had an entire life that Bilbo was unaware of. A dragon had sacked Thorin’s home; he’d been a child when it happened. Bilbo had thought they’d been close, that they’d shared something, shared everything. No, his dwarf was not here now. That dwarf was long gone, if he ever even existed. The Dwarf Bilbo knew had been a kind, gruff blacksmith, with more talent than the Shire deserved.

“Evisceration?” He exclaimed. “Incineration? What in the void?”

“It is a dragon,” Bofur said cheerfully. “Fire-breathing, claws the size of a man, huge teeth, great for spearing the unwary.”

Bilbo looked up from the contract, Thorin had shrunk down in his seat and Bilbo noticed he had reached out for Thorin; for Thorin to steady him. But he had pulled away.

“It’d be quick. A puff of fire, a slither of the tongue and you’d be gone in an instant. You’re probably too tiny to even be nicked by his fangs.”

Thorin had pulled away from him.  Thorin had pulled away. Valar wept, he couldn’t handle this anymore. He stumbled, the contract slipped from nerveless fingers.

“You all right there, laddie?”

“Air, I think I need air.”

“Oh there’d be plenty of that, at least until the dragon sets it all on fire. Poof, then gone.”

Bilbo’s vision narrowed and tried to take a deep breath but his chest was too tight. Damn binder, he winced and bent down but his vision swam. He managed one more breath before he collapsed.

“Nope.”

*

Thorin was out of his chair and had Bilbo in his arms before the hobbit reached the floor. Unconscious, Bilbo curled against him and let out a soft sound that threatened every bit of Thorin’s resolve. He held Bilbo close and the pain in his chest eased just a bit.

“Thorin.”

He didn’t answer, only held tighter and looked down at the still ragged hair that covered Bilbo’s scalp.

“Thorin.”

Dwalin came close and he shook his head. He couldn’t answer him; he couldn’t relinquish this just yet. But Dwalin put a hand on his shoulder.

“Your Majesty, you need to give him to me. You cannae be touching him.”

Pain choked him and he put the hobbit carefully in Dwalin’s hands. “You- you… you’ll take care of him?” He wasn’t asking about now; he wasn’t asking about their earlier argument. He needed Dwalin to take over for him; needed his friend and brother to take over where he wasn’t allowed.

“With my life, Thorin.”

*

When he awoke his head throbbed and a cup of tea was stuffed into his hands by a fussy dwarf with braids so elaborate Bilbo couldn’t make heads or tails which gender they were supposed to suggest. Perhaps that was the point. The Dwarf in question introduced themselves as Dori and Bilbo while he nodded took a sip of the offered tea. It was astoundingly good, and Bilbo privately nominated Dori for a hobbit. 

There were even small cookies on the plate from the hidden cookie jar. They had even found the secret stash. Definitely an honourary hobbit. Gandalf was talking about relatives and history and Bilbo was having difficulty paying attention to anything she rambled on about.

Thorin was in his home again. Thorin was closer to him than he had been in decades and he wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t talk, and most assuredly wouldn’t touch him. As if Bilbo was diseased. He was used to that treatment from hobbits. He’d thought dwarves were better.

“You’re making that up.” He said catching something about Bullroarer. “Just like the hobbits made up about him being caul-born, or that he married a fairy, or a dwarf, or whatever else they decide to tack onto his ridiculous life.”

Gandalf sat down in front of him and gave him a soft look. “What happened to you, Bilbo? The child I remember was ready to face the world and go on big adventures. You’ve changed.”

“Everything changes, Gandalf. And it only ever gets worse..”

“Whatever this is between you and Oakenshield, we can deal with it on the road.”

“Bilbo snorted. “On the road. As if I’m going on the road with  _ him. _ ”

“That’s why we’re here, Bilbo. They require a burglar. I know you spent time with the elves. I know you still have that thirst for adventure in you. You try to hide it, but you really are like your mother.”

“I AM NOT MY MOTHER.” He stood. “I am not a thing like her. I will not go gallivanting off with a bunch of  _ dwarves _  because you think I should. I will not be put myself through that again.”

“Put yourself through what, Bilbo. If you ask me you’re more focused on your doilies and your mother’s dishes than you are your own heart.”

“You have some nerve.” He snapped, bile rising in the back of his throat. “You waltz into the shire once a score and think you’re able to comment on the goings on of my life? Because you hold some regard for my mother. You don’t know. You don’t get the right to comment on anything.

“Your Valar decided to take my parents away from me. The only two people in this accursed place who cared for me as me. Then they dangle a lovely carrot in front of me. You can’t have it all, you can’t have family or happiness, but here’s a nice friend for you.”

Bilbo could feel his temper snapping again, could feel the fine edges of his control shredding and he couldn’t stop himself. Whether Gandalf deserved it or not, she was getting the brunt of it; he couldn’t stop if he tried.

“Ten years, Gandalf. Ten years and he doesn’t tell me he’s a king. And don’t try to tell me hobbits don’t care for that sort of nonsense. I’ve found out first hand how much of a lie that was. The mayor is supposed to have control over things? Are you kidding me? The mayor is a bloody puppet to whichever Took is sitting at the head of the table in Tuckborough.

“Granddad didn’t care. That’s a big difference. You can’t tell me that if his majesty hadn’t just said  _ something _  Isengrim wouldn’t have rolled over like the fucking bitch he was. That he wouldn’t have become some bowing scraping sycophant. The second he found out I was in Rivendell, he was all apologies and ‘wishing to make amends’.

“That dwarf prided himself on not being lied to. Hated it he said. Had me in near fits as a tween worried that not coming out to him was lying. But he didn’t see fit to bother to return the favour? No, he fucking didn’t. He was too busy having a grand time, and laughing about it during the winter with his family.” 

Bilbo made a disgusted noise and cut Gandalf off before she had a chance to speak. “Don’t you try to sway me. Don’t you try to do anything of the sort. He fed me nothing but lies. He claimed I was his One. 

“But hobbits don’t bloody have them now do they? Do they Gandalf. I’ve never heard of them. And considering I collect rumours faster than my tomatoes collect aphids, you think that would have been one of them. But it was just a fanciful story, something to tell the yokel to keep the wine flowing. Oh sure, dwarves love only once. My feet they do! He’s probably had a string of lovers from here to Gondor and I wouldn’t have been any the wiser. Just a naive hobbit, nobody important. Never goes beyond their borders, doesn’t know the way of the world. This’ll be good for a laugh. I’ve never felt so bloody used in my entire life.”  

“How can you believe any of that! You told me your people didn’t care.” Thorin said from the doorway. “You said, you didn’t see the point in titles.”

“Oh so you’ve deigned to speak to me to me I see? Have you finished your snit?”

“I’m not the one in the snit. I’m not the one that decided to cut their hair off in the middle of a tantrum. Did I!”

“Shut up! I’m talking. You left me! Did you get what you wanted? Did you? Or was I not putting out fast enough?”

“Bilbo! How dare you suggest that I would be that shallow!”

“You played a good game Your Highness. You played a marvelous game. Said all the best things. Knew just what to say to win me over didn’t you? Saved yourself a pretty bit of coin in the bargain. I was so desperate for a friend then. I must have looked absolutely pathetic.

“Tell me, in your letters back home did you laugh, and joke about how easy the hobbits were to fool?”

“That’s not fair! I tried to repay you for your hospitality. I tried to do right by you.”

“Oh yes, you tried to leave money in my room like I was some roadside whore. I have to give you credit. You were awfully patient for me to come of age. That must have been a dreadfully boring wait for you. When you set your sights on something you really stick to it. Buried yourself in that plan, didn’t you?”

“You do me false, Mister Baggins. You are not blameless in this. You focus on things that are not important. And you ignore the pleas of your friends. You may be angry at me, but you didn’t have to ignore my nephew.”

“Ignore your nephew? You used me! You slept in my home, you ate my food –“

“Oh yes, so it comes back to food. It always comes back to food with you hobbits doesn’t it?”

“Fuck you, Oakenshield! The minute the council told you no, you tucked tail and ran back to your bloody mountain. It was too hard was it? Couldn’t stand the thought of me in a dress could you? You didn’t even give me a chance to come around to the idea. You made all your promises and the second I hesitated you fled. Glad to be rid of me.”

“Why are you and your people so stuck on a piece of cloth? You care more for your weskit and your reputation than you do for another person.”

“If you had really wanted me you could have told them! You could have told them who you were!”

“You said it didn’t matter!”

“Of course it matters!” 

“Is that why you’ve ignored me? You’ve ignored me all these years! I’ll not stand for it.”

Bilbo threw the tea cup in his hand. It flew over Thorin’s head and smashed into the wall behind him. “You self righteous, arrogant, horrible dwarf. I should never have let you back into my house. You are a liar and a coward. I HATE YOU!”

“Trust me, you sanctimonious hobbit the feeling is mutual.”

*

He felt arms grab him and drag him from the room and he cursed and snarled. “Fickle Shire rat! You have the nerve to disparage my name! Let go of me! I’m not done.”

“You most certainly are.”

Thorin turned and caught sight of a hatted dwarf, Bofur, one of Balin’s in-laws. He wrenched his arm from the dwarf’s. “You know nothing of this.”

“I know more than you think, Sir. I also know that this is one thing you’ll regret more than anything else. Do yourself and your One a favour and keep separate and follow the rules of the Kharshukrat, they’re there to protect you both.”

“He’s not my One. My One would  _ never _ speak to me that way.”

Bofur snorted. “If you think having a soulmate is supposed to make this easier, you’re in for a rude surprise. You’ll learn in your own time, Thorin. But take it from someone who  _ knows . _ Follow the laws, keep quiet, and things will work out. If you do that you two will be back together before we reach Erebor.”

Thorin clenched his fists and felt a weight settle, heavy on his chest. “He’s not the same hobbit I remember. He’s not mine anymore, and I don’t even know if he ever was.” 

“Time changes people, but it also helps. Give this some time. You’ll see I’m right in the end.” 

“Leave me be.” Thorin moved from Bofur’s grasp and walked down the hall. He stopped only when the scent of lemons from the kitchen nearby gave his heart gave a painful twist. He needed to get out of here.

“I need air, tell Balin I’ll return soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kharshukrat - Cut of Greatest Trust  
> Binsalb khakful sharbrugn - Useless shitty hobbit  
> Sharbrugn - derisive word for hobbit
> 
> If I need to tag for something let me know. And I'm sorry? 
> 
> I swear you guys and your comments are just so wonderful! I love you all and I hope you're still with me. I'm going to hide now because yeah this chapter hurts.


	6. Family: Nosy Bastards with Genetic Association

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of you guys are just the best, and I love seeing each new review on this piece. It's kept me going during some pretty shit times this last month. 
> 
> A big big thank you goes out to Striving-artist, the bestest beta of all. <3 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's more of the same warnings for the whole fic, nothing new I think, but if you see something that I haven't warned for let me know.

Bilbo needed to get away from the dwarves invading his house. Just five damn minutes to breathe without the others nearby. He left Gandalf in the main room and ducked into the solarium behind several large pots filled with flowers. He yanked off his shirt and then the binder with a deep groan. He’d worn it too much today, having sought comfort from the compression. Now he was paying for it, and it took several good coughs to feel like he was getting a full breath again.

He didn’t remember having to wear it as much in Rivendell, hobbits were so particular about dressing appropriately, he’d been wearing it much more as of late. Setting it aside, he tugged his shirt on again and sat down at the table in the centre. He rested his hands on his head, rubbing at his roughly shorn scalp and holding back tears. He wouldn’t cry, not now. He couldn’t let himself; if he started now he might now stop, and the last thing he wanted from any of them was pity. He could handle it. He’d handled an entire community shunning him and then years of being alone. Their fight just confirmed all his suspicions. He was right not to go to Ered Luin, to not reading the letters.

“Now this is someplace you have here.”

Bilbo looked up to see one of the elder dwarves in the doorway: the one who had checked his head earlier. His quest for peace and quiet wasn’t going to be successful after all. Confusticate the lot of them.

Bilbo let out a barely tolerant sigh. “My father built the solarium when I was a teen. I’ve converted most of it to a hot house, but it serves its purpose.”

The dwarf walked into the room and examined the flowers and herbs all around him. Bilbo noted he was careful not to touch them; he had healer training most likely.

“I don’t recognize several of these varieties. You have a fair bit of healing herbs here. Are you a healer as well as a burglar?” Oìn hesitated the barest hint. “Did ye wish to discuss anything about tonight?”

“No, I don’t want to talk about  _ anything  _ that happened tonight. I’m most certainly not a burglar. Nor do I consider myself a very good healer,” Bilbo said. “My mother was one. She knew herblore and taught me when I was young. I’ve fallen into the role of healer from time to time, but mostly I synthesize the herbal treatments for the Choosers.” Bilbo took one of his books in hand. “I’d much prefer to be a writer, but I haven’t had as much time for it as I should like.”

“Choosers, eh? You use herbal supplements instead of stones? Now there’s an idea.”

“You’re familiar with the subject?” Bilbo asked. The dwarf made a point to keep looking at Bilbo’s face, and he vaguely recalled an ear trumpet from earlier in the evening. Perhaps he didn’t require it in quieter settings. 

Oìn, walked over to Bilbo and rolled his shirt sleeve back to reveal a simple red stone about the length and width of his thumb, embedded in the skin. 

“Quite familiar, lad,” Oìn said, his voice heavy with pride.

Bilbo blinked rapidly and looked at the stone, it was flush against the dwarf’s wrist and picked up the faint light thrown by the candles. It was different than what he expected from the way Elrond spoke of them. 

Bilbo had expected a normal pebble for all the interest elves had shown them. These ‘stones’ were gems, painstakingly cut and polished. Oìn’s stone was faceted as any gem set to catch the light and shine, these stones weren’t hidden. Bilbo bit his lip, not a single dwarf had a to hide who they were, ever. He went through his father’s entire funeral without shedding a tear. He wasn’t about to cry over a fucking stone. Not today; not ever. 

“I’ve heard of your stones. Lord Elrond mentioned them when I first went to Rivendell,” Bilbo said, hoarsely, “but I didn’t realize they stayed quite like that.” 

“That they do, Master Baggins. They’re a source of pride for a dwarrow, though not all of us display them. Tis a choice amongst those who carry them whether to display them or not.”

“We don’t have any more.” Kili said from the doorway

Bilbo started and looked over to the door. Kili stood in the doorway fidgeting. His shoulders were hunched and his hair fell in front of his face as he looked down at the floor.

“What do you mean you don’t have anymore?” Bilbo asked. “They’re gems, certainly you’d be able to mine them elsewhere.”

“When Erebor fell we weren’t able to collect our possessions. And there isn’t another mountain that produces this particular stone.” Oìn let out a sigh. “We were all right for a time, but the young ones, they’re not doing so well.”

Bilbo’s looked between the dwarves in shock. Surely they had sought other means. There were other methods. It had taken Bilbo years to source things, but even he had found hobbit choosers who had been using herbal supplements. The Shire had a few plants that helped with some people, and it turned out a few of the older crowd of choosers had been able to give him tips on certain herbs to plant in addition to what Lord Elrond had known. But dwarves, they’d had lived in Ered Luin for how long? In all that time no one had thought to look elsewhere besides rock?

“You never wrote back.” Kili whispered so quietly, Bilbo almost didn’t catch it. Oìn hissed a warning of some kind in their language and Kili winced.

“Wrote back?” Bilbo asked dumbly. Oh no. No, no, Thorin hadn’t… No. It was just not possible that he’d missed something like that. Some of what Thorin yelled at him made more sense, in that awful way things do when comprehension dawns too late. Bilbo’s stomach roiled with the first inklings of guilt. 

Kili nodded. “I begged him, pestered him all the time to see if he knew anyone who had answers. But he said they were all dead ends.”

One of his letters contained something about Kili. Thorin never mentioned any of this, he had never suspected that Kili had been like him. 

Yet another thing Thorin hadn’t trusted him with. 

Bilbo stood and ushered Kili into the room.

“T-Then we have a lot of time to make up for, don’t we?” He asked quietly. Kili looked at him and Bilbo saw the exact moment the boy caught his meaning. An instant later he was being hugged rather abruptly and he patted Kili’s back a couple of times before he was released.

“You’ll help me? How? If you don’t have choosing stones, I’m not sure it will work. How do your herbs work? Do they taste awful? Will it hurt? I don’t really like green things. Do I have to eat the plants? Will my ears grow pointy as well? I don’t want to look like an elf, the already say I’m not dwarf enough with my beard. Will I still need the stone do you think? I’d still like a stone? How long does it take to work? Is it like a magic potion? Do I drink it and wake up in the morning with my very own cock?”  

Bilbo’s head spun with the questions. “I’m not sure what help I can be to be perfectly honest Kili. The best I can do right now is try. The herbal regimens are fickle. I could try to explain everything to Oìn, but if you stayed here I’d have a better chance at monitoring your progress.”

“But aren’t you joining us?” Kili’s voice was ragged and edged with panic. “Master Baggins, I have to go on this quest. I will not leave my family, and I need a stone.”

Bilbo hesitated. “I know you need your stone Kili, but this type of work is particular and best done in a controlled environment. There are many equations, and a lot of tinkering. All of the information I have for dwarves is purely theoretical. You’d be the first dwarf we’ve tried this on.” 

Kili shook. “First dwarf or not, I’m not going to abandon this quest or my family.” He picked at his fingernails and fidgeted in his seat. “We’ve been away from Ered Luin for three weeks, travelling through human villages and now in hobbit country. I didn’t think it would be this terrible out here.” 

The hobbit let out a sigh. “It’s not like dwarven Mountains, or elven cities. The place you come from understands and accepts these differences. Out here, different is suspicious, it’s the unknown, and it is to be feared.” Bilbo ground out. “I can’t promise the Shire will be welcoming, but there are those among us who understand.  You wouldn’t be alone here, Kili.”

Kili straightened himself on the stool and shook his head. “I can’t. I would do anything to feel a little bit better in my body. Or I thought I would. But I will not abandon my family. I will not abandon my uncle on his quest. He needs this, we all do. And I have pledged him my weapons and my shield. And I will follow my King where he leads me.” 

Bilbo grabbed his measuring tape and measured Kili from head to foot, weighed him and set about figuring out his equations. He didn’t answer the young dwarf, not yet. “Loyal, stubborn, too young dwarf,” He whispered, muttering to himself. He couldn’t go, not with the way Thorin was acting. The tosspot may have earned the loyalty of his kin, but he was still an asshole. It would be torture.

He looked up from his scribbled notes and grabbed for another book, the one he and Elrond had been exchanging for the last number of years while figuring out the herbal treatments. There was so much information, and if the dwarves hadn’t done any of the research they were blind, new to all of this. The dosages in the beginning were crucial to getting the right set up and needed to be heavily monitored. He didn’t doubt the intelligence of Oìn, but it would take weeks to explain and teach it all. 

He needed to know more.

“How do the stones achieve the change? Is it slow or does it happen all at once?”

Oìn and Kili looked uncomfortable and exchanged looks between themselves. He knew he was an outsider and this reminded him of it more than Thorin’s treatment.

“I know I’m not a dwarf, but you want my help. I have to know these things. These supplements are temperamental in the beginning, and if you don’t know what to look for Kili could be in trouble. So I need to know what you’re expecting because of the stones.”

“Then you have to come with us.” Kili said in a rush and took the book from Bilbo’s hand. “Please, Master Baggins.” The young dwarf shook on the seat before him.

“Kili, if you stay here with me, I could-“

“No! You don’t get it, I can’t wait.” The poor dwarf was shaking and he reached out to Bilbo. “I’ve waited so long, there’s been nothing at home. They’ve done all they could and amad and adad have been the greatest, but every day I look at myself it hurts just a little bit more. There was talk in the human town of a healer who could help, but all his remedies did was burn my skin. I-I haven’t been able to grow a decent beard since.”

Bilbo set the books aside and guided Kili to sit down again. Bilbo wasn’t used to the casual affection of dwarves anymore. Yet, he couldn’t let this young dwarf suffer so he did his best to offer a bit of comfort.

“Kili, I’ll be honest, I’m not sure how well these therapies will work.” Had he ever been that desperate, Bilbo wondered. Of course he had, he’d travelled all the way to Rivendell on the hope that the elves could do something for him. There were dwarves out there like him who didn’t have that opportunity and this dwarf in particular was willing to trek across Middle Earth and face a dragon for the chance to be comfortable in his own skin.

He looked around at the vials on his table. Based on his fast suppositions he was going to have to take most of his stock with him to get them to Rivendell. He was going to have to send a letter ahead of him to make sure that Elrond had these supplies handy. That was assuming that would even be going near Rivendell.

Well, they were now.

He nodded, gave Kili an encouraging smile. “You need to understand the risks, Kili. Before you speak you need to understand. I know you need this, but what has helped me might not help you. Elrond and I have been basing our research on supposition. Likewise should it work, you’re going to experience a lot of changes and not all of them fast. It took about three months before I noticed anything changing, and another six before we got the dosages right.

“You’ll benefit from my research, so hopefully we’ll have you on the right dosage within two weeks, but you need to tell me everything. I don’t care how small you think it is. I’m going to be more annoying than a mosquito. This isn’t a permanent solution, you’ll still require your stone at the end of the quest, or you can go to Lorien, which is where the elves go to finish the process.”

“Is that where you went?”

Bilbo blushed and shook his head. “I haven’t gone yet. This,” he said holding up one of the vials, “has been doing the job for me quite well, and the hobbits around here have gotten better. The point is, this will either make the quest itself a bit easier or much more difficult, and I’m not sure which one. But if I can help, I will.”

Kili nodded and Bilbo was sure his head was going to swing right off his neck; obvious hope shining in that young face. By all that was green, had this child really suffered these last few years because Bilbo had been such a coward? He felt his stomach roil and he handed Kili two vials. “We’ll start with those. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to speak with Balin.”

*

He found Balin in the hallway, he adjusted his suspenders and took a deep breath. He couldn’t see Thorin, that was fine by him. Thorin could stay gone.  _ None of that now _ , he chided and went up to the dwarf.

“Excuse me, Mister Balin? Do you still have that contract?”

Balin looked at him in surprise and Bilbo fidgeted in his place.

“I do lad -- but I have to warn ye, it’s not quite finished yet. I have to make some amendments. Might I ask what changed your mind?” The dwarf asked, patting his breast pocket. 

Bilbo looked at Balin. “I haven’t yet, but I would like to read the contract. Please.” The dwarf hesitated. After a moment he sighed and handed Bilbo the contract. 

“As I said it’s in rather rough condition.” 

“Excuse me.” Bilbo stepped away from the dwarf and opened the contract, and gave it a more thorough perusal than he had before. A knot settled in his stomach as he read the terms and shoulders bunched as he read clause after clause, each one written with the obvious intention to cut the burglar out of any reward at the smallest opportunity. 

“What in the Void’s name is this piece of shit?” 

Balin cleared his throat. “Excuse me?” 

Bilbo looked up at the dwarf in question. “I wouldn’t let my poorest tenant sign something like this.” Bilbo said with a sneer. “Are you in the habit of pissing on your contractors? Or did you think I was somehow imbecilic and wouldn’t catch on that I was being taken for?” 

The nearby dwarves all looked at him one by one and Balin’s cheeks had taken on a ruddy hue. From the corner the remarkable dwarf with an axe in his head let out a string of what Bilbo could only assume were curses judging by the vitriol behind it. 

“As I will not be your burglar, I will not be signing this contract.” Bilbo said and ripped it in two in front of them. “No, that will not do at all. Now, Mister Balin, I have paper in my office, and I’m sure the two of us can come to something mutually beneficial.”

The muttering between the dwarves had gotten louder and while he didn’t see any weapons, Bilbo didn’t doubt they wouldn’t find an excuse for some very soon. 

“Best to discuss it here, Mister Baggins.” Balin said, holding out a placating hand to the one with the axe. “For transparency if you will.” 

“I would like to hire you.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not burglar material. Nor do I plan to sign any contract to that effect. I have however decided to go visit my friends in Rivendell. I was going to make the trip in a month’s time anyway. I can move up my schedule with no issue on my part. 

“You are travelling the same road; it would make sense for me to hire you for protection.” Bilbo continued. “Also, I’ve decided to help young Mister Kili. I can teach Oìn the use of the elven serum, and the other therapies. I can also offer an introduction to Lord Elrond as he and I have been friends for several years. Gandalf said you needed the map deciphered and I’m sure Elrond could help. Once you’ve concluded your business, you can be on your way and I shall remain behind in Rivendell.” 

“I don’t think Thorin would appreciate stopping by Rivendell.”

“Then Kili and I will be parting company when we reach the bridge, and he’ll meet back up with you all after we have concluded our business.” Bilbo said. “This is non-negotiable Master Balin. My money is contingent on that.” 

Gloin cleared his throat. “How much are you willing to pay?” 

“That isn’t important-” Balin tried. “Now, Mister Baggins, you can’t be brokering negotiations of this nature willy nilly. We’ll not be taking the little coin you possess.” 

Bilbo looked at Balin and blinked owlishly. “Mister Balin are you under some impression I’m unable to retain all of you for this purpose? I’m Bilbo Baggins, the son of Bungo Baggins and Belladonna Took. Since dwarves seem to put so much _emphasis_ on titles I am essentially an Esquire. I’m the head of the Baggins family, and on my mother’s side the current Thain is my first cousin. I own this entire hill, and surrounding property, not just the smial in which you stand.” Bilbo bit out, and he tasted dust and anger. His parents never cared one whit of their wealth or standing. But the dwarves seemed to care only for it.

“I shall cover the cost of the Inns and meals between here and Bree. Once I arrive safely at the River Bruinen and I meet my escort. I shall confer to you payment appropriate for your quest.” 

“Do ye think we cannae support ourselves or this quest?” Dwalin interrupted. The dwarf’s eyes kept being drawn to Bilbo’s hair and Bilbo put a hand to his head before cursing himself. 

“We’re not discussing  _ that _ at all. As for not supporting yourselves, I believe nothing of the sort. Kili and I have been discussing matters. I cannot and will not sign that contract in good conscience. Therefore the only way beyond this impasse is to hire you. It is not as if you’re going in the opposite direction, and there would be very little delay for your quest. The roads have become. . . difficult the last number of years.” Bilbo felt the eyes of all the dwarves on him and he knew each one of them wouldn’t stop staring at his head. 

“This is an honest transaction,” he said. “Stop it! All of you stop it. I will not have you staring at my head for the next two weeks. For pity’s sake this is a simple transaction I’ve seen less hesitation from a Bracegirdle. I should think the sum of -- Stop staring!”  

A soft weight settled on his head the room went dark for a second before it was adjusted and he could see once more. Bofur grinned at him. “They’ll stop now. Though that hat does look better on me.” 

“As I was saying,” Bilbo continued, “Upon arrival in Rivendell I will confer to you a sum that is both handsome and worthy. I will not be going as your burglar. I do not want a 14th share of any treasure, the furthest I might go is LothLorien and that will be a decision I make when I arrive at Rivendell.”

Another dwarf crowded near him, the blond one, Fili. “Why do you want to take my brother to those mibilkhagas, they haven’t done anything to help us.” Bilbo could see the anger in the young dwarf, it vibrated off him in his clenched hands and he furrow in his brow.

“Your brother has asked for my help. Those elves are my friends, I would kindly ask you not to disparage them in my company when they are the reason I am able to help your brother. Now you can stand here and attempt to bully me into your decision, but your uncle knows well what happens when I make my mind up.”

“Why would you help him now? You didn’t seem all that keen years ago. You’re only willing to help now that it’s convenient for you? What would you know of it?”

Bilbo ignored the clarion call of guilt and counted to ten, trying to remind himself that Fili was only being protective. That wasn’t helping him any, not when the dwarf was clearly still so young and had no idea the goings on outside of his home. “Your brother is able to make his own decisions. He has requested my help, and these are my terms. Should you not like the idea of Kili and I going to Rivendell without you, I suggest you make sure Rivendell becomes a stop for us all.”

Bilbo pushed past the dwarf, intentionally muttering in Sindarin about stubborn dwarves and idiot relations. A large hand landed on his chest and Bilbo jumped back one hand going around his front the other reaching for his knife, which was still on his bed, shit.

“Why Rivendell?” The large bald dwarf asked as he pulled his hand back carefully.

“I can’t bring all of my stock. If I do I will be leaving many of choosers here without access to their medicine. Rivendell will have the supplies I need to make more and I have to make arrangements so that Lord Elrond can give my assistant a hand while I’m gone.”

“Are you sure this will help my son?”

Bilbo sighed, Valar was every dwarf related? “I’m not sure, I think it will. But I won’t know until we’re well on the road. I should have enough to get us to Rivendell. From there, Oin will have enough information and I will make sure he has a enough stock for Kili for the rest of the Quest.” The dwarf still looked unwilling to budge and he could feel the waves of obstinate stubbornness from the dwarves around him.

“I’m doing this, adad. If Master Baggins says we have to go to Rivendell, then I’m going to Rivendell. I thought I could handle being away from Ered Luin. It’s worse out here, they all stare at me. My voice is too high, my chest too big. I don’t even have enough beard, even the Men call me Miss.”

Bilbo flinched and looked down at his feet. He was going to help this dwarf whether the rest of them wanted his help or not. Unclenching his fists he opened his mouth to speak.

“I can’t change what they’ll say,” he said softly. “I’ve never been able to change what anyone will say, Kili. But I can do my best to help.” 

Balin and Gloin walked over to him. “Let’s work out the details in your office. If you say you’ll offer your services as a healer to our Kili then perhaps we can work something out.” 

*

“It’s settled then, 40 gold pieces to be paid once we reach Rivendell. You will pay for any and all Inns used between Hobbiton and Rivendell, with the payment of two meals, or one large meal and up to 4 drinks per dwarf.” 

“Yes, that sounds reasonable.” Bilbo said looking over the contract as Balin wrote. 

“What compensation do you wish for your services to Mister Kili, have the two of you come to an arrangement?” 

“I’m helping him, the same way Elrond helped me. I do not require compensation for that. I never have.” Bilbo said as he signed the bottom of the contract. “I’ll have a copy of this kept with my documents and with my accountant.” 

Balin nodded, and let out a quiet sigh. “Lad, is there nothing I can say that will change your mind regarding the quest? Thirteen is a rather unlucky number.” 

“Fourteen is no more lucky than thirteen. I’m a hobbit. I’m not a burglar and I will not sign anything under _him_.” Bilbo muttered. “Now, thank you Mister Balin but I have correspondence to address and entirely too many things that need to be handled if I’m going to be ready to leave in the morning. If you will excuse me.” 

Balin left him alone in his study and Bilbo relaxed once the door had been shut behind the dwarf. It took him several moments before he put quill to paper again and began writing all those he needed to. He made sure that Primula was still his sole inheritor. Rowan would oversee the choosers whilst he was gone, and Ham could handle the rest. He sent them off with his dove, Tále.

He then penned another letter to Elrond. That letter took the longest and he had to restart several times. Finally he said that would stopping by Rivendell for supplies and hopefully an extended visit. Maybe even a trip to Lothlorien following. He was unaware of his schedule as he was not planning on hurrying so he would arrive in about two weeks. Putting the finishing touches on the letter, he could hear something coming from the main room. Tále returned and he attached Elrond’s letter to her leg, and pet her head.

“Elrond first, tell Glory I want him to have the good stuff waiting for me. I expect I will need it.” She flew off and he left his office. Thirteen dwarves were singing in his front room. Thirteen voices in melancholic harmony and he could pick out Thorin’s without needing to see him sing. 

Under all of it were the faint strings of a harp. That was unfair. Bilbo leaned against the wall and bit his hand. Memories of Thorin’s soft voice singing as he went about his morning routine, at night in the front room when the day had settled and he’d trace rough fingers gently across the strings of his harp. Memories of Thorin and he by the party tree and his friend singing along with the hobbits and their simple tunes. All of it, all ten years of memories of he and Thorin came crashing down as he sank to the floor, tears slipped free and he shook.

Valar damn that dwarf.

Valar damn him for leaving. And Valar damn him for coming back.

*

The night had grown late and Bilbo was nowhere to be found. His bedroom door was closed and no one wished to disturb him. Rather, the rest his company would not let him disturb Bilbo. Thorin knew the smial well enough, he pointed out the bedrooms, and where the extra linens were. How the familiar scent of lavender bedsheets could hurt him he didn’t know. But he was learning new levels of pain tonight.

Bilbo didn’t even know what he had done, what his actions had incited. Mahal wept, if it weren’t for the courtship bead he’d be able to talk to him, argue, scream, something. Without the courtship bead, Bilbo wouldn’t have cut his hair. They wouldn’t be in this situation at all.

Thorin didn’t think Bilbo could have ever been this angry, but he’d been very wrong. He had abused Bilbo’s trust in the worst way. Lied to him for ten years, slept across the hall from him, shared meals with him. There had been so many times he could have spoken of Erebor. Bilbo had always been an understanding soul, he would have listened, he wouldn’t have pitied him.

What had stayed his tongue for so long? Fear? No he hadn’t been afraid. He had wanted to share everything with Bilbo. He had in the letters he’d sent. But here in this house with his hobbit it had been so far removed from the life he lived in Ered Luin. It had been peaceful, a separation from his duties and his heart.

Now, both worlds had collided and Bilbo was paying the price for all the lies. He stared at the fire, unseeing, and jumped at Dwalin’s hand on his shoulder.

“Thought you’d taken yourself to bed.”

“Are you okay?”

“Would you and the rest of our kin stop treating me as if I’m made of shale?”

Dwalin thumped his shoulder and pushed Thorin into a chair. “I would, but you’re damn close to breaking.” He handed Thorin a glass of wine and sat across from him. “I’m sorry, Thorin. He had the bead in his hair when we arrived, I didn’t think that this could have gone so horribly wrong.”

“Bi- Master Baggins has every right to be angry. I betrayed his trust.”

“Oh don’t give me that.”

“I did. I never told him of Erebor. I never told him I was a king or had any claim to a title. I carried myself as blacksmith. I had many opportunities to tell him and didn’t.” Thorin sipped the wine. “I waited until I was well away from the Shire and on my way to Ered Luin before I sent off  the first letter as if that could somehow appease my guilt.”

Dwalin sighed. “Could you tell your nephew that? He ran out of here earlier this evening convinced he ruined all your chances with Bilbo.”

Thorin furrowed his brows and looked at his friend. “Why would Kili feel like it was his fault? He had nothing to do with this.”

“He says he’s the one that told Bilbo you were king. He was trying to make Bilbo feel better. Apparently the hobbit had been under the impression you were deceased. An assumption the two of you both made it seems. Kili was a bit over enthusiastic and sought to build you up in Bilbo’s mind about how great you were.”

“What in Mahal’s name?”

“That nephew of yours worships the ground you walk on. And is willing to do anything for you if you’ll be proud of him.”

“I am proud of him, I’ve always been proud of him.” Thorin said. He suddenly felt light, as if he’d float away if he wasn’t inside the house. Dawning realization swept through him he set the goblet down with trembling hands. “Oh merciful mahal no.”

Dwalin reached out to grip him, worry etched in his friends’ features.

“If Kili is the one who told Bilbo I was king. That means Bilbo never received my letters.”

“Aye, you’re probably right, but why do you look so fucking pale? You look right about to be sick.”

“I left him, Dwalin.” Thorin whispered. “I courted him, practically proposed to him --” 

“I saw the box the blade is set in, you did propose to him. But you dinnae tell him that, did ye?”

“No, we were waiting. His family were being obstinate. More than that, they had enacted a Shunning. I’m not sure the meaning behind it clearly but he was a pariah amongst his kind and we thought if we waited it would settle down. Give his uncle the winter to settle down.” Thorin held onto the mantle, his knees weak. “But, Ered Luin was in trouble, and Bilbo hadn’t written back… I thought he was angry and with good reason. I promised to come back and never did, with no explanation as to why. Worse, no explanation about the forge I sold. I didn’t even leave a message with the dwarf, Balin handled the sale. I was too ashamed to pass a message along through another dwarrow, lest it make matters worse.”

Thorin pushed from the mantle and paced the room. This wasn’t an old anger, this wasn’t something that had been brought back up because of memories and their arrival. To Bilbo this was a new sharp hurt, coupled with the knowledge that Thorin was a king. All of Bilbo’s books and fairy tales painted kings as above the rest of their people, separate. Sometimes they were good and noble, but those who lied were seen as cheats, ill deserving of their rule. No wonder Bilbo was reeling from it all. Mahal, he had hurt his One deeper than he’d realized.

Betrayal that strong required acknowledgement. There was no way they could bridge this gap. It was up to him to free Bilbo of their promise. He stopped in front of the fire and took hold of the braid hidden under his hair. With his other hand he gripped the small knife at his belt and brought it shaking up to his scalp.

The room spun and Thorin fought against the huge weight atop him. “Leave me be. I have to do this. It’s what’s right.”

“Are you absolutely daft? If you do that, the courtship is over. You can’t ever reconcile.”

“How do I deserve to reconcile? When I’ve hurt him so much. I abandoned him eighteen years ago. I left him here in this hole of a place. He has every right to hate me.” Thorin uttered. “I have to make this right.”

“Oh, for Mahal’s sake. You and he are the most stubborn fools I’ve ever encountered. Honour his kharkhushrat, follow the rites set forth and wait the allotted time. Once he sees that you are still the dwarf he knew all those years ago, the two of you can start again.”

“That isn’t right and you know it.”

“Perhaps it’s not. But you’re on a quest to reclaim your kingship from a dragon. You already have the council marked against you. If you go in there with your honour sullied because of a misunderstanding due to poor postage do you really think they’re going to honour your claim as king.

“You could glue the Arkenstone to your forehead and it would achieve nothing.” Dwalin sighed and thumped Thorin’s forehead to drive his point home. “There is still hope. As you said, he’s not familiar with our rules or our laws. He’s angry and he reacted fast.”

Thorin wasn’t convinced and he gave a half-hearted struggle under Dwalin, warring with his own guilt and the burst of hope Dwalin’s words had ignited in his chest. He had hurt Bilbo so much, how could he ever make that up. How could he ever be worthy enough to earn Bilbo’s forgiveness?

“Your One is alive Thorin. He’s living and breathing and sleeping not forty feet from you. Yesterday he was dead and the only hope of seeing him was the Arkenstone. Don’t give up yet my friend.”

He let out a shaky breath and managed a nod, going limp underneath Dwalin. “You’re right. Anything is better so long as he’s alive. Even his anger.”

 

*

 

He couldn’t stand being in his own smial anymore. Not with thirteen dwarves snoring. Gandalf had tried to speak with him again, but Bilbo shook his head and refused to be drawn into her machinations or her pity. He wasn’t sure which would be worse, so he avoided the whole lot.

He slipped out the backdoor of his smial and stepped into his garden, breathing in the cool air and trying to ignore the scent of Azaleas on the breeze. He needed a pipe or several and lit one and used the action to calm his nerves. He’d still yet to cry though he could feel it on the edges. Every time he let his mind wander he started to think about it. So he smoked and resolutely put his mind to mentally packing.

The music stopped and Bilbo crept back into his smial. The dwarves had found the rooms and Bilbo took his opportunity to slip into his bedroom. The room was as he’d left it from earlier in the evening, his hair strewn on the floor, his dagger tossed on the bed, forgotten. Resigned, he swept up the hair in several handfuls tossed it into the trash. He debated throwing it down the loo, but he didn’t think his plumbing would handle that on top of what the dwarves were leaving behind.

Once the wearisome task was complete, he packed what few belongings he cared to bring with him, tied up the refuse from the lavatory and snuck his way down the hall. The fire in his living room was banked and all the dwarves were sleeping.

Much to his surprise his kitchen was back in order, as was his dining area. He’d expected chaos and ruin. Apparently buying the dwarves as protectors had changed their attitude somewhat. Bilbo doubted it, Gloin had still be giving him suspicious looks even as he added up the figures of Bilbo’s promised contribution.

Bilbo tossed the bags of refuse into his bin by the front door and let out a groan. Damn. Damnation and the void. He had to hire ponies. His shoulders slumped and he let out a heavy groan. He hated ponies. It didn’t matter how many times he had to use them in the run of a year they still tortured him with their damn hair and their smell.

Two weeks on the road with dwarves, and ponies. How was he to survive this? He was going to need a drink. Several of them.

Hobbiton was still asleep; some of the farmers would be awake at this time, having first breakfast before they tended their animals. But aside from the stars above and the rare light swinging from a Bounders hook Hobbiton was shrouded in darkness.

Best get the task over with, Bilbo though. He walked down the hill and to the stable yard near green dragon. There was a young hobbit sleeping on a nearby haystack. He smiled and knelt down. “Gordo, where’s your da?”

“Huh, Oh hi Mr Bilbo, what are you doing up this early.” The teen asked as he scrubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I’m old enough to look after the horses now, I let da sleep and came down to feed all the ponies.” With the exuberance of youth, Gordo hopped off the hay bale. “We have lots of ponies being stabled tonight, more than I’ve ever seen.”

“Yes, I’m quite sure. And that’s awfully kind of you to help your da out. Would you do me a favour lad and have a look at Bella and Myrtle?”

“Are you going on an adventure? I knew it! The second all those dwarves dropped off their ponies I told da, ‘just you wait, Mr Baggins is going on an adventure.’ Was I right?”

Bilbo managed a laugh. “Yes, Gordo, you’re quite right, could you make sure they’re ready and up to the house. You’re probably going to need a hand with all of these ponies.” He pulled out a his money purse and handed the boy a few coins. “Now, go wake up your brothers and sisters and tell them there’s an extra coin in it for them if you get all the ponies properly saddled and ready.”

“What time do you need them, Mr Bilbo?”

“The earlier the better, lad. Around eight o’clock. We’re hoping to get an early start.” He said with a smile. The boy nodded, took the offered coins and ran off to his smial to wake his siblings. That taken care of, Bilbo headed back up Bag Shot Row and sighed in relief to see Hamfast’s light on.

At least he wouldn’t be waking them up. The new family needed their sleep; their little ones, Hamstead and Halfred were barely four months, and twins were a lot of work. Bilbo knocked at the door. It was answered a moment later by a very tired looking Bell with a wee hobbit on her shoulder.

“Bilbo, awfully early for you to be awake. Taking Hamfast up on his offer for fishing? And dear me, sir, but what do you have on your head?” She smiled and ushered him into the house and promptly foisted a baby into his arms. He held it carefully, still unsure how to really hold an infant. He was quite horrible with children if anyone bothered to listen to him. Not that they ever did.

Hamfast came into the living room and chuckled. “Are you expecting him to do tricks Mister Bilbo?” He walked over, adjusted Bilbo’s hands and the babe and the cooing bundle was tucked in his arms comfortably and staring up at him with limpid blue eyes.

“I’m not honestly sure, Hamfast. He just might do a trick.”

“No more than that hat of yours can do tricks. Are you trying to start a new fashion?” Hamfast asked with a cheeky smile.

Bilbo tried to return it but knew it wasn’t reaching his eyes.

“Ah the rumours are true then. Your dwarf came back,” Hamfast said. “Mind if I remove that hat of yours. Your head must be sweating something awful.”

Bilbo nodded and refused to take his eyes of the child in his arms.

“Oh Mister Bilbo,” Bell said as she walked into the room. “You know you shouldn’t go out at night. I know it’s not fair but I thought you were trying to be safe.”

“I did this Bell, no one else.” Bilbo admitted.

Hamfast set out two glasses and poured a bit of clear liquid into the them. “Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” He admitted. “But you’re going to sit there and try to pry it out of me with that poison you call alcohol. It turns out Thorin is a king. And I was just a summer dalliance.”

Hamfast snorted. “You don’t honestly believe that do you? Oh I’m sure he’s a king. That part doesn’t surprise me none too much about Mister Thorin. Always did have a bit of an air about him. A good one mind, but he knew how to organize people, kept that forge of his in tip top shape and people just sort of, listened to him, ya know?”

“I never really noticed.”

“That’s because he has a soft spot for you as long as his hair. You could argue and snip and fight with him from Brandywine Hall all the way to North Cleave and back. You and he were equals. And he loved you. Loved you then, and loves you now, mark me.”

Bilbo bit his lip. “No, Hamfast he doesn’t.” He whispered, his voice rough, the words sandpaper in his throat. “Eru we were awful to each other tonight. I yelled, and he yelled back. It wasn’t like our old arguments. I wanted to hurt him. I still want to hurt him. He left me, and now he’s back with his  _ subjects _ and he’s important and he’s haughty and not even near the dwarf I remember.

“Here now, Ham, you take the little one, and I’ll fix up Mister Bilbo’s hair,” Bell said scooping the babe from Bilbo’s hands and depositing the fussing bundle into her husband’s. She topped up Bilbo’s glass and gave him a kind smile before moving his head this way and that, clucking her tongue.

“You’ve done a right mess on yourself here, Bilbo. You’ll be two weeks before you’ll have anything covering your head.” Bell said as she cut the remaining hair from Bilbo’s head.

Bilbo sat perfectly still and stared into his mug of shine, as if it would reveal what his next step should be.

“It’s not the end Mister Bilbo,” Hamfast said quietly. “You still have the letters don’t ya? Maybe you should rea-“

“No, absolutely not, Ham. I will not be reading a single thing of those, it’s bad enough I didn’t read them in the first place.” Bilbo said and drained his mug. It burned on the way down and he coughed and spluttered. His eyes teared up and it took him a second to get a decent breath past his burning throat.

“Bilbo, I can’t tell ye what to do. No one can. Yer a right stubborn fool of a hobbit when you wish to be. And I’d not change ye, my friend.” Ham said quietly. “Don’t let this chance pass you by. He’s here, he’s alive. Time has changed ya both. Yer angry at him for a good number of reasons I’m sure. And he’s likely angry at you for several.

“But you have an opportunity.”

“Ham, do you really think this is the time?”

“If not now, when, darling? I’ve been watching this from the outside for the last twenty years,” Hamfast said and looked back to Bilbo. “You have a parcel of letters, pick one, read it. You don’t have to read them all. But he wrote them, and Isengrim denied the two of you the right to make your own decisions.

“I don’t expect you to forgive him over night. That happens only in those stories of yours. But perhaps you can read one of the letters, and remember what you two had. Find out if it’s worth pursuing.”

Bilbo shook his head. He didn’t want to hear any of this. He couldn’t listen to it right now. He set the mug down. “I can’t talk about this right now. I-I’m going to Rivendell, perhaps onward to Lothlorien. I wanted to come by to let you know I’ll be leaving for an indeterminate time. I’ve sent a letter off to Elrond. You have the spare key and you will keep an eye on Rowan and the others? I don’t want them to think I’m abandoning them.”

Bell spoke up before Hamfast. “We’ll make sure they’re looked after and safe, Bilbo. Now, you’ve had a full smial over there, with those dwarves tromping about. I suppose they left you with a bare pantry and not even a by your leave.”

Bilbo stuttered and fidgeted. He wanted to leave but Bell disappeared down the hall. A few minutes later she came back with two baskets in her hands filled with an assortment of her homemade fair.

“Bell, I can’t, I really can’t accept this.”

“You most certainly will, Bilbo Baggins. You maybe our landlord, and we your tenants. But you have been a friend to us, and a friend to my husband all your lives. I will not let our friend go out into the wilds without a good store of food to keep his belly plump. Where ever the road takes you, Bilbo, you have friends here, and we want only the very best for you.”

His throat felt thick and his eyes stung again as if he’d had another glass of Ham’s awful drink. It took him a second to clear his throat and put Bofur’s hat back on his head before taking the two baskets.

“Thank you, both of you, very much. You are, my very best friends. I promise to write.”

*

He slipped back into his darkened home and set the two baskets into the kitchen. He still had final packing to do and he needed to make sure everything was in order before he overloaded Myrtle with it. He might hate her hair, but he wasn’t about to be mean to the poor nag.

The solarium cleaned and closed up rather tidily, the one place in his smial he kept in top order for those like himself, and after double checking the count on the serum he packed he set it in the front hall with his pack.

He stared at the glory box, willing it to catch fire or otherwise absolve him of having to open it’s cover. It did nothing but sit, disappointedly standing where it always had. It carried the air of his mother about it, and he couldn’t help but feel her displeased resignation to his utter cowardice.

Bilbo turned from the offending storage container,went into his room and changed into something more appropriate for travel. Going through his closet he cursed and complained about his missing jerkin and scabbard until he remembered, once again, all of his gear had been squirrelled away with the letters.

“Please tell me this month will end soon. It’s too fucking much to hope a new day will make things better,” He muttered as he stomped back down to the glorybox. He flipped open the cover before he could change his mind, emptied it of his necessary travel items and then stared at the letters.

One of them contained a request to help Kili, and who knew what the others contained. Once they had been a sign of what could have been, what had been denied them because of his uncle and Bilbo’s own fear.

Now, he wasn’t sure what they contained, but he certainly doubted they contained any hope. Only missed chances, failed opportunities. He picked them up and one fell at his feet. He stuffed the rest into his pack, down to the very bottom so he wouldn’t have to see them.

Hamfast did say read one of them. He slipped his blade across the seam and sheared the paper as easily as spreading butter. The vellum inside was old and it smelled of Thorin’s pipe smoke, and him.

 

[ _ March 28th 2925 _ ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4142115/chapters/10300815)

It hurt just to touch it. His heart settled somewhere in his throat as he looked at the date on the postage. 

The paper was old, dry and cracked as he spread open the thick sheaf of paper. He didn’t know what he was feeling, couldn’t pick from the myriad that was running the gamut in his heart. The sight of Thorin’s familiar, careful penmanship brought back every memory he had of their old correspondence. Nostalgia punched him in the gut and he he spent several minutes staring at the lettering, the words not registering. 

Until they did.

He read the letter once. 

Then twice.

Everything felt surreal. He didn’t believe, couldn’t believe what he was reading. Thorin’s familiar scrawl, and the usually curly westron had taken a sharp narrow tone, the pen bit into the paper in places, though never quite ripped through. Unable to stop himself he read it again. Slowly.  

The first words rung heavy about his head.  _Have I offended you?  Does my meaningless title offend your hobbit sensibilities so much that you choose to ignore me when a simple response would end my misery? Did I mean so little in your eyes that you cannot find it in you to even bother with a letter in kind?_

It ripped into him and he felt sick, his heart stuttered and he felt a wash of guilt and disbelief. He shook his head and read the opening over again. It hurt. Each word struck a cord, landed a blow. Until he read it a third time and the meaning revealed itself.

“Meaningless title my arse.” He muttered, anger building behind a welling of guilt. “If it was meaningless why did you see fit to hide it?” Bilbo asked the letter, reading on. Anger and disbelief warred in his breast, a sickening seesaw of emotion that ratcheted higher with each demand and piece of blame lobbed his way.

_ You have found excuse after excuse for their horrible behaviour and yet here I am, two years from seeing you and you have not seen fit to even send a missive, not even a note to tell me our courtship is finished. _

That was a lie. That was a complete lie. He never once forgave or made excuses for any of the hobbits who were awful to them. He expressed patience for those fools who were taking their time. And some of them had apologized in their own way. Others had shown their true nature and he had nothing to do with them anymore.

_ I had thought better of you. I knew your parents only briefly but I had thought they would teach you better manners than this . _

“Don’t you dare bring my parents into this. Don’t you dare,” he whispered. “They were the only ones, the only ones who ever protected me and they were taken from me. You have no right to claim knowledge of them, to claim anything of them. How dare you, you  _ dwarf _ .”

_ Did you sell it to fill your pantry or did the symbol of my love purchase you a new weskit? _

_**King** Under the Mountain _

Bilbo balled up the letter and threw it against the wall. His vision blurred and he dashed at the tears that stubbornly fell. That son of a bitch. That fucking dwarf. No. Whatever good was between them was well and truly gone. Bilbo let out a harsh sound and pressed his hands to his mouth as he tried to calm himself down.

That was all the answer he needed. There was nothing more between them. Whatever the other letters had to say they were old and buried. Emotions and requests made from someone who had so little opinion of his people that they didn’t deserve to be acknowledged. He was done, Thorin might be a living breathing dwarf in his smial once again. But he no longer held any sway on his heart.

Bilbo dried his eyes, balled up the letter and tossed it with all his strength across the room. He’d signed a contract for the dwarves to take him to Rivendell. He would honour his part of the bargain. If he didn’t manage to kill Oakenshield between here and there, it would be a miracle from Eru himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talè - lovely in Quenya 
> 
>  
> 
> Hello everyone, and I'm so very sorry for the break in updates. Real life has been well, shit, and plans to be very busy for the next month and a half at least. I can't promise regular updates, but I do promise updates. I'm hoping to get this back under control soon, but real life might have something different to say. Also if it can be helped, I highly suggest not to have your entire household come down with pneumonia all at once. Very bad.


	7. On Dwarven Custom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back! And RL is still busy but calming down some now, maybe, hopefully. I don't wanna jinx it. Anyway here's the next chapter, thank you guys for all your great messages and comments and support. You're the very best. And a huge, massive thank you goes out to Striving-artist, for being the seriously best beta ever.

Bofur woke early; as soon as the light in the room turned a soft grey. They were used to mines. They knew by the variations of darkness and the subtle shifting of light and air that the sun was rising. Bombur snorted loudly and turned over in the bed, taking the covers with her. Mahal bless their sister, this was her first and possibly last chance to sleep in a clean bed without eight little ones waking her up. She deserved to sleep in, Bofur thought as they got up and dressed. Bofur slipped from the bedroom, letting Bombur sleep for a few more minutes.

The hall was quiet and the unmistakable scent of bacon cooking wafted through the house. Bofur made their way toward the kitchen, letting out a low whistle at the number of packs and bags set by the front door.

“When you decide to do something you don’t mess around do ya?” Bofur asked with a grin as they came into the kitchen.

The hobbit looked up and gave them a shrug. Bofur saw the hobbit still wore their hat. It felt odd not wearing it themself, but it was for a cause. But hobbits were different creatures, and of the hobbits Bofur had seen, Bilbo’s hair had been unusually long before the ‘incident’, perhaps it grew faster than dwarven hair. They could hope. 

“I’d like to apologize for my words last night, Master Baggins. I upset you and I feel quite awful about it. I had hoped-- well I don’t know what I had hoped. I do understand what you’re going through though and I’m mighty sorry to see it happen.” Bofur said quietly.

Bofur had thought to force some kind of interaction between them the night before. Perhaps terrifying the hobbit into reaching out for Thorin would forestall the  Kharshukrat before the rest of Thorin’s family decided to go through with it. 

It had worked. 

Sort of.

But Thorin’s family had already decided that the King would be held to a higher standard. And in the end, the taunting had been poorly planned and caused more pain than intended. Maybe they could talk about it now, explain things before the laws settled into place and they couldn’t do anything until a Speaker had been chosen.

“Thank you, but I don’t wish to talk about last night at all.” Bilbo said and looked at them confused. “I’m sorry, I have quite forgotten your name, that is absolutely dreadful of me. Have a seat, breakfast shall be ready in just a moment. I never start a trip without a good solid breakfast.”

“Name’s Bofur,” and took their seat. The kitchen table wasn’t as big as the dining room but it had several seats available, and the surface was filled with fresh bread and scones, a large bottle of jam and a container of butter. “My sister is Bombur. She’s the one who cooked up the stew from your larder last night. Have to say she was mighty impressed with your pantry, Master Baggins. And my cousin is Bifur, he’s the one with the ax in his head.”

Bilbo put a plate in front of him and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Bofur, and I’m glad your sister liked the pantry, Hobbits pride themselves on their pantries. I do hope your cousin is all right, injuries like that seem rather delicate.”

“Oh he’s fine, had it for years now. They couldn’t remove it at the time on account of healers being overworked. By the time they had a chance to look at it, well most of it had healed and Bif was doing well and he wanted nothing to do with anymore healers.”

“Can’t say as I blame him,” Bilbo said quietly. He filled a plate with bacon, placed it on the table, moved back to the fire and added eggs to a large fry pan with a healthy dose of butter and green things. “Are all of you related?”

“Oh no, the three of us are related. Bif is married to Balin though, so that’s our connection. They’ve been married close to eighty years now. Balin and Dwalin are Thorin’s cousins, their father was Fundin, who’s brother is Groin. Groin is the father of Oìn and Glóin.

“Now Thorin’s father was Thrain, Thrain’s father was Thror, whose father was Dain I, whose father was Nain II, who had Borin, who had Farin who had Fundin and Groin.” Bofur said cheerfully eating a few strips of bacon. “Dwalin married Thorin’s sister, Dis, and although he didn’t officially adopt the boys, they’re his children as much as the other four they’ve had.”

“Oh, Dis had more children, that’s wonderful.” Bilbo said. There was something about the hobbit’s voice that Bofur couldn’t figure out. His words said one thing, his voice, which was hoarse and a little tight, said another. And still his eyes said another. 

Bofur looked over to the hobbit but Bilbo turned his back and refocused on cooking. “Aye, she’s a lucky one, all healthy babies. The Ri brothers are somehow related, though it’s not quite clear how. I think Dori claims their mother is a byblow from either Nain or Dain I. They have some royal blood in them anyway.” The dwarf buttered a thick slice of bread and slathered some of the dark fruity jam over it. “You seem to be following the family tree easily enough, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Bilbo shrugged and cleared his throat. “Hobbit families are rather big. My mother was the first daughter of twelve children, and was the ninth born. Da was the first of his but there were five children in his family. My aunt Mirabella has seven children. So you see, confusing family trees are the standard around here.”

“T-welve, twelve children? Your grandparents must have been a force to be reckoned with Master Baggins. If you don’t mind me saying so.”

Bilbo smiled a bit. “I never had a chance to meet grandmother, but my mother used to tell me stories of her and my grandfather. Knowing what he was like and knowing my mother, I can picture what she was like.”

There was a sudden knock on the door and Bilbo set down the fry pan. “That must be Gordo. Can you watch the eggs Bofur? I believe our ponies are ready. And please, call me Bilbo. My father was Master Baggins.”

 

*

 

Kili woke up and bounced off the floor. He dressed quickly in his jerkin and toed his brother awake. Fili grumbled and swatted at him but didn’t make a move to get up. He looked at the bed, Indâd and Adad were snoring loud enough to shake it so he risked a harder nudge to Fili and ducked as a boot came flying at his head.

He felt different this morning. Excited, but that didn’t cover it. Mister Baggins had said to not expect much from the medicine, that it would take weeks before he felt any changes, but he could feel it now. He was sure of it. He opened the bedroom door and the smell of breakfast assaulted him. Before he left the room he tossed the boot back at Fili.

“If you don’t wake up now Nadad, I won’t save you any bacon.” He said and left the room with a laugh.

“Bacon! What?”

“If you two don’t keep it down I swear I will put you on third watch for two weeks.” Thorin grumbled as he stuffed a pillow over his head.

Dwalin snorted. “That’s just torture for us and you know that. Those two on third watch, we’ll either be eaten or we’ll have to listen to their pissing and moaning from their horses.”

“Hey! We’re not that bad.” Kili said from the doorway.

Thorin tossed a pillow. “I thought you were going to eat all the bacon?”

“I a-Ack! Fili!”

Fili raced around him, shoving Kili into the wall as he went by. Kee pushed off and chased after his brother and into the kitchen where Bofur was cooking up eggs and bacon.

“There was more food in the pantry? Where’d you find it Bofur?” Kili asked filling a plate with bread and bacon and a hearty spoonful of scrambled eggs.

“Oh don’t ask me, lad. This is Bilbo’s doing. Said you can’t start a trip without a solid breakfast. Now eat up and be quick about it, the ponies are all waiting outside and ready to be packed and on the way.”

Ki grinned around a mouthful of egg and stuffed a piece of bacon in his mouth, but he followed the miner’s instructions and cleaned his plate quickly enough. He set his plate in the sink and after a not so subtle cough from Bofur washed it up to set near the others that looked clean.

Once finished, he went to check on the ponies and to talk to Mister Baggins about the serums and when he should take another. Outside of the house the top of the hill was covered in ponies, theirs, including the pack ponies and Gandalf’s horse plus two additions he hadn’t seen before but assumed were Mister Baggins’.

The two new ponies were already strapped with boxes and packs of all kinds, and a young hobbit was feeding one of them something. He was about to ask where Mister Baggins had gotten to when Fili thumped him on the back and dragged him off to where their ponies were tied to the clothes line.

“What is it Fi?” Kili asked once Fili had stopped dragging him.

“Are you sure about this?”

“Don’t start this again, please.” Kili said.

“I will start it again. You’re willing to take weird medicine from a hobbit we don’t even know. You remember what happened the last time.”

Kili pushed Fili away and adjusted his jerkin. “I know  _ quite well _ what happened the last time nadad. I also know that Mister Baggins is not a stranger, and that he’s been taking this since he was tween. It’s safe, Fili. Stop trying to baby me.” He declared.

“How do you know it’s safe? You’re my little brother I’ll always baby you.”

“You treat me with kid gloves, as if I’m more delicate than our sisters. I’m a dwarf grown,” He hissed. “I’m doing this. Accept it or don’t, but Mister Baggins has offered to help me, and I plan on taking it.”

“His intentions might be good, but what about the elves. You know they can’t be trusted.”

“You and elves, Fili. You’ve never even met one. All you have are stories that Indâd told us. And he didn’t always hate them. Why are you so against them?”

“They didn’t help us when the dragon came. They have never once lifted a finger to help us, not when our family was in exile and homeless, not when we tried to take back Khazad-Dum. And if they’ve had this ‘magic remedy’ all along why wouldn’t they offer to help us when we needed it? No they’ve kept it to themselves and watched us suffer.”

Kili groaned and shook his head. “Mister Baggins said he was unaware that we didn’t have choosing stones. That when he visited the elves, Lord Elrond told him that’s how we did things. So even an elf Lord isn’t aware that we don’t have them.”

“You’re too naïve, Ki.” Fili pleaded. “I’m worried about you.”

Kili shook his head. “You and amad would be happy if I stayed locked away in Ered Luin and never left. You say you want me safe but all you want to do is control everything about my life. I’m doing this. I’m taking Mister Baggins serum, and I’m going to fight that dragon and get a choosing stone. Oìn says there’s a possibility that if I take the serum it might help, and it certainly can’t hurt.”  

Fili cursed. “I don’t want to control your life Kili, I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of. You and Thorin and even Amad don’t see how mean and horrible these people can be. You trust and are hurt and then you trust again and are hurt even worse.” He ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I can’t watch as the world grounds my family into the dirt. I can’t trust the way you do.

“Maybe Mister Baggins isn’t trying to hurt you, maybe he’s actually one of the few good people left in his Valar forsaken place. But I can’t help but worry about you and indâd.”

Kili sighed and shrugged. “I can’t stop you from worrying nadad, but I have to be my own dwarf. I can’t live my life behind walls, not anymore.”

Fili grabbed him by the shoulders and thumped his forehead against Ki’s. “I’ll try, nadad. I promise to try, okay?”   

 

*

 

Balin checked the packs on his pony, making sure his writing instruments and parchment were in easy reach.

_ // ”That’s the fourth time you checked, do you think it’s going to disappear on you?”//  _ Bifur asked him from his own pony.

_ // ”I knew that contract was too stringent. I knew it when I wrote it.”// _

_ //“You had no idea the hobbit would be the King’s One. You were protecting your king. Besides, now you have a better one.”// _

Balin closed his pack with tight knot and humphed.  _ //“Perhaps, but I need to start the reconciliation papers. Who knows what other contracts and papers I’ll need to work on. Writing on horseback isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”//  _ He smoothed his beard.  _ //”I’m getting too old for this.”// _

_ //” You have a pupil for a reason. Let her write it up. She has better penmanship with that writing desk of hers anyway.”//  _ Bifur smiled, signing several quick endearments. Balin waved his hand and signed one back.

// _ ”Tell me again husband why I put up with you.”// _ He asked good naturedly.

// _ ”Habit.”// _

Balin snorted and as he walked by Bifur he squeezed Bifur’s shoulder. “The day that is true is the day we’re dead, Kurdêl.”

 

*

 

The boys left in a tumult and Thorin let out a groan as he sat up.

“Oh shut it. How you manage to sleep with all the grunting and groaning you do is beyond me.”

Thorin snorted. “You cling like a limpet in your sleep, and you’re worse than a forge fire. How my sister puts up you with you I will never know.” He stood and stretched out the kinks in his back and shoulders. The bed was the same one he’d slept in all those years ago, and still smelled of lavender and clove. He didn’t remember it being so small. But then, he had never had to share it with Dwalin before either.

"It's been so rare that we share a bed lately, we don't actually get much sleep when we do share one." Dwalin shot back.

“Dwalin, you are speaking of my sister!” Thorin growled, heat suffusing his face, unable to meet Dwalin’s gaze.

“And you blush like a dwarfling the second kissing is mentioned.” Dwalin said with an evil smile. “What are brothers for if they can’t poke fun?”

“So why did the  _ thief _ join us?” Thorin asked changing the subject. He gave Dwalin a look to drive the point home.

“Nori?” Dwalin shrugged. “You got me. I think it has something to with his sister.”

“Balin’s little scribe? She has to learn sometime. She is of age, yes? Gimli will never let us hear the end of it if she’s not.”

“Oh she’s of age, just barely mind you. But that Dori is over protective. Traditionally overprotective. I don’t think she has much training with a weapon if at all. Spent most of her time indoors.”

Thorin dunked a cloth into the water in the basin near the bed and washed his face before retying his braids. “Dear Mahal, that’s barbaric. Add her to the training roster. You and Fili can run her through her paces. By Rivendell she needs to have some handle on a weapon.”

Dwalin laughed, shrugging into his armour. “You might want to take Fili off that roster. He’s likely to go easy on her, the lad is besotted.”

“He’s like stone, Dwalin.”

“Doesn’t mean the boy can’t be halfway in love with her.” Dwalin said. “Just means he doesn’t care or particularly want the messy bits.”

Thorin let out a grunt as he tied the courtship braid that lay under the layers of his hair. “Can’t fault him there, the messy bits just make a muck of things.”

Dwalin finished putting on his knuckle dusters and looked at him. “Thorin, did you and Mr Baggins, ever discuss you being like stone?”

He sat on the bed to put on his boots. The fact that it meant his back was to Dwalin was just a bonus for the embarrassing nature of the conversation. “No, but with him I’m not. I do not understand it, but until he kissed me, I never saw the appeal of it. It looked complicated and frankly embarrassing.

“Then he kissed me, and I could have cheerfully never stopped.”

“And how far did you get?”

“Dwalin-“

“I’m serious Thorin. You’ve never shown interest and the few times anyone tried to talk to you about it – including your mother – you’d change the subject and in some cases literally run outta the area.

“When all this mess is cleared up you’re going to need to know what to do.”

“It’s not that easy, Dwalin. First, you act as if this is just a lover’s spat and we’ll be reconciled in a few days. It could take years and at the very least is going to take months. Further, I am hours out from nearly cutting my braid, this is highly inappropriate and your timing is appalling. Additionally, if Mr Baggins and I, should we even exist as a pair when this is done, choose to engage in … that… I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

He did not want to be having this conversation. Least of all with Dwalin. It brought to mind too many memories he wished not to be reminded of, not with the feel of ‘home’ all around him.

“You’re perhaps right on my timing. But you my friend are very wrong on the third point. Fumbling around is all well and good, but could lead to the both of you getting seriously hurt, and not just emotionally. I’ll hold my tongue for now, but when the talks open up, and believe me they will, you are getting several overdue lessons.”

“Need I remind you I’m your king?”

“Funny how that only crops up when you don’t want to listen. If you’re not careful, Thorin, or if you don’t know what you’re doing, you could hurt him. You could make him bleed. This is not negotiable.”

Thorin felt the heat drain from his face, as if he just been thrown too soon into ice water and now was brittle enough to shatter.

Dwalin stepped around the small bed and squeezed his shoulder. “Aye, kissing is all well and good. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

Thorin sighed. “Do you really think this will get better? After what I did? After what we’ve said?”

Dwalin took Thorin firmly by both shoulders and cracked his forehead against Thorin’s. “You’ve never heard your sister and I in the midst of a fight. You, nadad, need to forgive yourself. Easier said than done, aye. He’s alive Thorin, as you said that’s better than what we started with, right?”

Yes, alive. Alive enough to yell and scream and claim that Thorin was some kind of wretched king from his fairy stories. Bilbo had the nerve to claim that Thorin had used him. He hadn’t even read the letters. He missed Bilbo so much it felt like an ache, and yet he wasn’t sure he wanted be around him, or anywhere near him. 

Easier said than done, since Bilbo had signed the contract. Thorin swallowed around the sharp lump in his throat and took a deep breath. “Yes. He’s alive, this is so much more than I ever hoped. When did he sign the contract?”

“Exactly. Balin can fill you in on that. Now let’s get breakfast before the rest of them eat it all.”

 

*

 

Ori scurried from the kitchen with three plates full of breakfast and shoved one into Nori’s hands as they met in the hallway. He yawned largely and nearly toppled over as she dragged him into the dining room.

“What are you doing, Ori?” Nori asked, looking from the plate back to his sister.

“Nothing,” She said and shoved a few pieces of bacon into her mouth.

“Ori…”

“I said nothing, now eat your breakfast, the ponies are outside and I think we’re leaving soon.”

Nori picked up a slice of bacon and stared at his sister until she flushed and couldn’t look at him. “You’re not Dori, namadith, you can’t protect me from every hurt I might come across.”

“It’s not that Nori,” she whined, and he watched while she fiddled with her food. “They’re your – well of all people that should understand— they should. It’s not fair.”

Valar help him from welling meaning siblings and stupid superstitions. Nori reached over and took her hand. Her fingers were ink stained and still very soft for a dwarf of seventy four.

“Ori, life isn’t fair. Bofur’s a grown dwarf able to make their own decisions. Same as I am.” He shrugged. “It’s not all like your stories, namadith. Look at the mess that happened last night with Thorin and his One. Sometimes this shit doesn’t work out.”

“Bull shit. Bofur should understand, don’t tell me  _ they _ shouldn’t.”

“Leave it Ori.”

“But it’s not right, I know I was only a dwarfling when it happened, but I remember. I know you were sad; you were always so sad Nori.”

“No! Enough, Ori! I don’t want to talk about it. Finish your breakfast.” He took his plate and left. He didn’t need Ori worrying about him. That wasn’t her job, Dori did enough for all of them combined.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Speak of the void. “Just cleaning my plate, brother dear.” He said with a brittle smile. Dori was dressed perfectly, and his hair was, as usual, done without a strand out of place. The look on his face was reminiscent of his stepping in shit.

“All right, empty your pockets. I’ll not have you pilfer things from Master Baggins home.”

Nori danced out of the way of Dori and his nimble fingers. “Shove off, Dori. Between you and Ori I think I would have preferred getting et by a hobbit.” Appetite thoroughly spoiled, he turned around and stormed into the kitchen, where Bofur was washing dishes. Nori cleared the plate by emptying the bacon back onto the table and caught the other’s gaze.

“OH don’t you fucking start on me too. I have enough to deal with as it is. I don’t need your disappointment added to it.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You could fucking write a book with what you don’t say.” Nori ground out and left house. The sooner this quest got started the sooner he could be rid of all of the well-meaning, nosy, intrusive dwarves in his life.

 

*

 

Bom walked into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding Nori as he stormed by. She looked over to her sibling and opened her hand. They gave her the fry pan. “Who put you in charge of breakfast?”

“Bilbo asked me to keep an eye on things while he sorted his belongings and the ponies out.” Bofur said, scratching their scalp. All the while never taking their eyes of the doorway.

“You could talk to him.”

Bofur snorted. “In that state? He’d stab me six ways before I had a chance to say hi. Talking gets us nowhere, sister. And I’m not quite allowed to yet.”

Bom shook her head, “Then go and get your things ready, I’ll finish up in here with the stragglers. Save at least a few people from your burnt bacon.”

Bofur grunted but left the kitchen, no doubt happy to be away from Bom and her prying questions. She didn’t pry. She was concerned, and her sibling’s insistence on being such an ass in regards to their One was one of the many things they didn’t see eye to eye on.

Oìn and Glóin came into the kitchen and took a seat.

“Did you see Master Baggins’ solarium? Och, that’s a healer’s dream. I should see if the hobbit has any blueprints and if he has suggestions on plants. He’s been to the elves, and he might know some of their healing magics.”

“You seem infatuated with this hobbit, but I’m not convinced.” Glóin said and dug into breakfast. “Hanging around with elves, and not having the decency to respond to Thorin. Why if I had done that to my Vara she’d have cut off  _ my _ hair, never mind her own.”

Bombur looked from the two dwarves wondering if they were even aware she was still in the room, or for that matter cared. She made a point of banging the pans together as she cleaned up the kitchen from breakfast and put last of the food away in the large basket.

“I am not infatuated, and you are too suspicious about the hobbit, and about elves.” Oìn muttered around breakfast.

“It’s good to be suspicious, someone has to be.”

“This is Thorin’s One you realize. What you’re speaking about could be treasonous. Besides, I thought you’d be the happiest, now you have the first part of the quest completely bankrolled, and you don’t need to dip into any of your personal funds.”

Glóin picked up a scone and tossed it at his brother. “I’m not suggesting anything drastic. What I’m suggesting is caution in the face of what little knowledge we have. We’ll respect the rites, but this hobbit has had extended contact with elves, and the wizard. Who knows what his motives might be. That he’s paying his fair share for the quest is… admirable I’ll give him that.”

“That’s quite enough.” She said suddenly, unable to take any more of the suspicion, these were Thorin’s cousins and they had influence enough to make this difficult. “Mister Baggins is hurting, for whatever reason he felt it necessary to claim  Kharshukrat and it is up to us to be respectful of that. Not sitting around in his kitchen, eating  _ his _ food, and suspecting him of foulness because he happens to have some friends among the elves.

“I don’t pretend to know what’s going on, but I will say that we owe Mister Baggins more than our suspicions, he’s been polite and respectful and is even helping the prince all while in the midst of something that would put any dwarrow in seclusion for a month. Whatever you seem to think he might be capable of, kindly do me the favour of not discussing it in front of me.” She said and threw the towel on the table. “Now, clean the rest of this kitchen up, you two are the last to eat. We’re leaving Mister Baggins’ home in the state it was in before we barged through the door.” 

 

*

 

Gandalf had been awake with the sun and had left through the backdoor to avoid the busy chaos of the dwarves and their departure. She took the time to enjoy a good pipe while she had the chance in the hopes of regaining her usually calm mien.

Once she had finished she walked around the smial and found Bilbo packing half his smial it seemed to one his ponies.

“I had quite honestly hoped the Took side of you would have joined us, Bilbo my dear. It seems,” she said thumping one of the boxes on pony, ”That the Baggins has decided to join us instead.”

Bilbo looked up at the wizard and gave her a glance that could only be called scathing. Bella’s son was not the hobbit she remembered.

“You thought throwing a troupe of dwarves at me would do what? Remind me of the adventure I sought as a fauntling?” He shook his head. “No Gandalf, neither the Baggins, nor the Took has joined you on this trip.

“I’m sad to report, only Bilbo is coming along.”

Gandalf bent down and to look the hobbit in the eye. “What happened to you, Bilbo? What have I missed?”

The hobbit’s eyes misted and for a second she thought he might actually share with her but he shook his head and swallowed several times. “A lifetime, Gandalf. You’ve missed a lifetime.”

“Bilbo.”

“Do not ask me to elaborate, Gandalf. I have only the vaguest memories of you and not all of them are frankly very pleasant. Do not ask me to confide in you.”

Gandalf did not sigh, Istari most certainly did not sigh. Especially at tiny mortals who were most vexing. “Bilbo, are you sure you are up for this?”

The hobbit laughed a short, sharp and brittle thing. “I have already signed a contract. Leave it to you to have second thoughts after I have made my promise. Now if you will excuse me, I have to finish packing. I suggest you do the same.”

 

*

 

She was up with the dawn and out the door with a basket in one hand a letter clutched in the other. As she rounded the bend the breeze picked up and she had to hold her bonnet in place. “I knew it! I knew you were going on an adventure!” She said at top volume. Outside of Bag End was simply chaos of ponies and dwarves mingling about getting ready. Mr. Nimble’s children along with several other of the more intrepid faunts bounced around with the dwarves, asking them questions and being a general nuisance as children were wont to do when something new happened in the shire.

Rowan smiled at the dwarves as she searched around to find the wayward hobbit. “Where are you Bilbo, you can’t hide from me. Oh sorry sir, I’m looking for Mister Baggins.”

“Rowan, it’s me,” Bilbo said as he finished packing his pony Bella. She covered her mouth as she let out a gasp and her hat went flying off in the wind.

“Oh Bilbo, your hair.” She cried, dropping the basket she closed the distance looking Bilbo over, checking him for injury. “Oh you loved your hair.” She blinked back tears and stomped her foot. “Oh those- those- Argh!” She clenched her fists at her side and stomped her feet twice more for good measure.

“Rowan, please, it’s all right.” He said holding his hands up and looking at the others around him, skittish. He gave her a pleading look. Rowan sniffed once and took out her handkerchief to dab her eyes.

She bent and took the basket up again and handed it to him. “Here,” she said and her voice was tremulous but she continued anyway. “As if you could leave and go on a big adventure without me saying good bye. I packed some goodies for the road, and I made sure to pack extra handkerchiefs, you’re always forgetting them.”

Bilbo took the basket and blushed. “Thank you, my dear. Now you be careful, please. Tále might return here, Hamfast is going to watch out for her if she decides not to come find me. But if you need anything, send a missive to Elrond he’ll answer you quickly.” He took a deep breath and chewed his lip. “I hate that I’m leaving you alone here.”

“Oh nonsense. I’m not alone, the group and I are solid as anything. You need to get away from here. As for me, I think I’ve had quite enough of this, Lobelia had the right of it in the end.”

“What? Lobelia, what in Eru’s name are you talking about?”

“After I left here yesterday I sent a letter off to your cousin the Thain, it’s time we choosers started making a real fuss. It’s time those ‘comfort laws’ were put into real practice.” She said squaring her shoulders. She expected a fight, it had been the same argument they’d had for the last four years. Ever since she had started wearing petticoats and had a troupe of awful hobbits chasing her through the streets. Bilbo always taught caution and care and privacy. Oh he’d defend any young hobbit in trouble, and had been there a number of times with that dagger of his or his bow. But he wouldn’t fight or force the Thain into making a decision.

Bilbo opened his mouth, closed it and tried again. “Write to Layla. Get her on your side, and Fortinbras might just follow. Can’t say it will be an easy fight though, Rowan.”

“No it won’t be, but I’m not about to let that stop me.” She hugged him tightly. “Take care of yourself, my friend.”

“I will. You too, friend.”

Rowan turned away and ran off the steps and up the hill around the horses milling about.

“Miss, you dropped this.”

She stopped and looked up to see a very very large dwarf holding her bonnet in his huge hands. He was bald and huge and his hands were the size of her head if they were anything. She sniffed and smiled. “So it is, thank you.”

“Aye, yer welcome. Uhm, ye know Mr. Baggins well?”

Rowan nodded and she looked at the dwarf more calculatingly. Bilbo had never spoken about his dwarf, had never mentioned him in the eight years she’d known him. But she had grown up in the Shire and hobbits loved to talk. So she had heard plenty. And this dwarf standing before her was most definitely Mister Baggins’ beau.

She looked over her shoulder and noted they were quite alone and she took the dwarf by the hand and tugged him further up the hill away from Bilbo and the others. “You must be Bilbo’s beau. Not to worry, Bilbo is very private and I don’t mean to intrude or pry. I’m very sure that whatever happened between the two of you has been patched up. Now I like to think I know him well. Bilbo helped me when he came back eight years ago. Helped me acknowledge who I was, and gave me the tools to be my true self.

“It’s time to return that favour.” She took a breath and held up her hand to stall him from speaking. She needed to get this out. “You take him, and you get as far away from this misbegotten place as you can. You hear me, Mister Dwarf? Bilbo is not the easiest person to get along with as I’m sure you well know. He’s sarcastic and sharp of wit and likes to hide behind a wall of decency as thick as your arm.

“But hobbits here are cruel, and once again he’s paying for it. He never asked to be such a visible reminder that he’s different from the other hobbits. Me, I don’t quite care. I’m a woman right down to my pretty shoes and I will end the first hobbit that tries to tell me otherwise. Not Bilbo.”

She gave the dwarf a pleading look. “You’ve seen his hair. I heard from one of the others that they had seen Bilbo out early this morning. He knows better than to go out at night. We all do, the bounders around here are run by the Brambles Shirrif and he’s not keen about ‘our kind’ as he calls us. He chooses bullies and he’s had his bounders threaten us before. Whether he wants to be or not, Bilbo was the first to make a fuss, so he’s who they always go after.

“They did that to Bilbo, who knows how hard they beat him. Don’t bring attention to it, he gets so flustered. The last time this happened it took me weeks to get it out of him what happened.”

“What happened, miss?” The Dwarf’s voice was as sharp as the axes on his back, and if he looked angry before, the look on his face now was nothing short of rage.

“A bunch of the boys from the outer farms, the Hogpens and the Bofins cornered him one night and put a good solid beating to him. He could have stopped them, he’s absolutely deadly with that dagger he loves so much, and I’ve yet to see him be outclassed with that bow of his. But he doesn’t try to defend himself. Just said he might have seriously hurt one of them and he could survive a few bruises.

“It wasn’t just a few bruises Mister Dwarf, they broke several ribs, shaved his head and left him on the outskirts of Hobbiton. Mister Gamgee said he found him searching around the grass and mud and wouldn’t leave until he found that bead of his. He was hurt for weeks and refused to leave the house for several months. So you promise me, you’ll take him as far away from here as you can get him. Show him the rest of the world is not nearly as backward as this place. Meanwhile I’m doing my part to make sure this place is worth calling home.”

“I promise to do my best, Miss.”

“Rowan Undertree. It was a pleasure to meet you. I have to say I’ve heard nothing but rumour about you, but I know Bilbo, you’re a very wonderful dwarf, and I’m glad he has all of you. I know you’ll look after him.” She placed the hat on her head and smiled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised my mum I wouldn’t dawdle.”

“Thank you Miss Undertree, for telling me.”

“It was no trouble Mister Dwarf, Bilbo is a very private hobbit, often to his detriment. Please take care of him?”

“I will.”

“Have a good adventure, and may the Green Lady smile on you.” 


	8. Bag End Behind, The Road Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New Chapter! Warnings are the same as in the tags, there is talk of transphobia and discussions of same. There are also allusions to violence. 
> 
> Strife is the bestest beta ever. And she is very patient with my prose, she deserves all the thanks.

Faunts from around the market raced after them, a loud and boisterous counterpoint to the sombre nature of their departure. The dwarves had grouped together with Thorin taking the lead, Balin and Dwalin near him. The healer and his brother were next, followed by Bifur, Bofur and Bombur, the ‘Ri siblings were next, then Bilbo and Gandalf. Taking up the rear were Fìli and Kìli.

He was as far from Thorin has he could get without joining the brothers. That was fine with him, and he did his best to keep his attention on anything other than the back of Thorin’s head.

Travel was abysmally slow as the dwarves did not seem to feel any rush. Bilbo watched the progress of the trees and fields as they passed through the outskirts of the Shire. At this rate they could sleep at Brandy Hall.

Not that he was about to suggest it. He’d rather sleep outside than endure his relatives for even a few moments. No, better to get this dog and pony show on the road, and avoid his family at all costs.

The entire company was a buzz of quiet conversation in Khuzdul that left Bilbo and Gandalf pointedly excluded. Maybe it had to do with the dragon at the end of their journey. Or more likely it had to do with the storm cloud that led the way. Thorin’s mood was malignant and everyone near the front of the troupe was quiet and far too serious. Except.

“HE DID WHAT?” 

Bilbo looked to the front of the caravan and was briefly caught in Thorin’s icy stare. Bilbo waved and gave a sarcastic smile. “That’s right, you’re indebted to me, you royal asshole,” He said under his breath. 

Several dwarves around him started laughing as coin purses flew between ponies and disappeared into pockets. 

“Absolutely Not! I forbid it!” Bilbo could hear only bits of the argument; Thorin’s yells that were punctuated by the sharp unintelligible whispers from the others near him.  

Bilbo kneed Myrtle to urge her between the ponies and up further through the line of dwarves. He wasn’t able to break the chain of family around Thorin, but he got close enough. 

“Whether you agree with it or not, the contract has been signed. And I would think carefully about refusing,” he leaned over Myrtle’s neck. “It’s my price for helping Kìli, after all.” 

He sat back in his saddle and felt very good about himself. He was holding his own against not only Thorin’s angry visage but Dwalin’s and the others as well. That is until he sneezed. 

And sneezed again. 

And again. 

Valar bedamned ponies. He wiped his nose with a handkerchief and blinked until the water left his eyes. He would not embarrass himself in front of them, he would not show weakness. 

“Not Rivendell.” Thorin bit out, even as Dwalin put a hand on his shoulder as if to stop him from speaking more. 

“Rivendell is non-negotiable-” 

“Mister Baggins-” Balin interrupted. 

“No, it is non-negotiable. I’ve taken the majority of my stock with me and if I do not go to Rivendell and make the proper arrangements the choosers in the Shire will go without. I have finally managed to cobble together _something_  of a life in the Shire and I will not leave _them_  stranded. Do not tell me again what is non-negotiable, Oakenshield.” 

Grabbing the handkerchief that Rowan had given him, he wiped his nose. Several pairs of dwarven eyes turn to look back at him and he slunk down. “I’m allergic to horse hair.” He muttered and let himself fall back in the line. 

“Bilbo,” Gandalf asked quietly. “You’ve pushed me off several times now, but I’m nothing if not persistent. What has happened between you two?” 

Bilbo snorted, sneezed hard enough his ears rung and grumbled in his saddle. “Too much, and not nearly enough. Someday, Gandalf I will tell you. But not now.” 

She chewed on her pipe and Bilbo suspected she intended to look thoughtful; she looked calculating and interfering. “Well, it’s good to see you have inherited your mother’s backbone. It’s nice to see some real Took spirit, thought your mother got the lot of it.” 

“I don’t have mum’s spirit. Mum’s spirit came from being confident and plucky and enjoying the world for what it was. Mine has been shoehorned into place because if I don’t stand up for myself, no one else will. I’ve been alone and it’s all I’ve had to keep me going.” 

She hummed and shook her head. “Whether you believe it or not, you have a lot of your mother in you. And quite a lot of your father in you as well. You will see in time.” 

“I can’t tell if you know everything and yet choose not to share it, or you don’t know anything and you pretend that you do,” Bilbo said, irritated. “It’s bothersome.” 

Gandalf laughed. “Coming from a Baggins, that’s grievous thing indeed.”  

 

*

 

The arrived in Bree by lunch of the sixth day. Bilbo was already tired and sore. Not from the travel -- he was used to riding pony back for much longer -- But wearing two binders and his elven jerkin made it very hard to breathe deeply and the rolling gait of his pony didn’t help. Even surrounded by thirteen dwarves he didn’t feel safe heading into the town of Bree. He’d travelled these streets many times, had crossed through here and and spent nights in the Prancing Pony, but it never felt right. Even travelling with elves he felt exposed and vulnerable, worse than in the Shire.

Bilbo had built himself a buffer in Hobbiton. He’d surrounded himself with only those people who treated with him fairly. Because of his name and his money, he had the ability to maintain his safety. Here, surrounded by big folk, he keenly felt his difference. He was not safe here. 

He was never sure if they actually knew, or if he was just more aware of his otherness. The Shire could be vicious and awful but it was usually words and rarely led to violence. Big Folk were loud and large and prone to violent outbursts and tavern brawls. Bilbo had dodged more than one in his time.

He adjusted his weapons and made sure his dagger was visible at all times, shed the politeness he had cultivated in the Shire and grunted and snapped at the Big Folk in a way he never would have dared elsewhere. Once they stabled the ponies, he took Kìli aside, away from the others, most especially his well-meaning and overprotective brother.

“Yes, Mister Baggins? Serum is working fine I assure you, not feeling much yet, but soon, yeah?”

“We’ll have a better look at that tonight Kìli. I wanted to speak with you about something else.” Bilbo hesitated at the sincere look on the dwarf’s face. He didn’t wish to hurt the poor lad, but if didn’t warn him he’d just feel dreadful about it.

“Anything, Mister Baggins,” he said. “Are you feeling alright, you look a bit peaky.”

“I’m quite alright, Kìli. I don’t care for Bree all that much, or more specifically, Big Folk. Do me a very big favour while we are here, stick close to someone, either your brother or your uncle. I don’t care who, just don’t go alone.” He held up his hand to forestall Kìli interrupting. “I know you are a warrior in your own right. I’ve not doubt of your skill. But the Big Folk I’m referring don’t travel alone, and they’re the worst kind of people. Put something against the door tonight.” Bilbo took a deep breath and managed a fleeting smile. “You’re a dwarf, Kìli, that beard of yours keeps you safe, maybe. Hopefully. They don’t seem to like beards.”

Kìli blinked a few times as understanding dawned. “Bilbo did some-“

“No! No, not me, but others. I’ve heard too many stories and I’ve had too many close calls in this town. Act as rude and brash as you can, and don’t drink. This isn’t Ered Luin, nor is it the Shire. These folk can do a lot of damage if they’ve a mind. And the only thing they seem to go for is small.” Bilbo swallowed hard. “Now, I promised Dori I would show him the teashop and the clothier in town. I’ll see you later.” Before Kìli could stop him, he left the stable and met up with the older dwarf.

 

*

 

Thorin watched as Bilbo left the stable, his shoulders squared for battle, despite there being nothing to fight. 

“Cheer up, he’ll come around.” 

Thorin snorted. “I haven’t come around yet. He can be as angry as he wishes. That’s not my concern right now.” Thorin took his pack from his pony and joined Kìli. 

“What did he say, Kìli?” 

Thorin looked his nephew over as Dwalin joined them. Kìli shook his head, but Thorin knew Kìli, knew when he was worried, and trying not to worry others. 

“Open up lad, did that blasted hobbit say something rotten? Ye can be honest.” Dwalin said softly. Thorin shot him a glare, but Dwalin shrugged, still angered by Bilbo’s comments earlier in the week. 

Kìli hesitated and let out a breath. “It’s not like that adad. Mister Baggins is nice, I wish you could see that.” 

Dwalin snorted.

Thorin elbowed him.

“He’s worried about me. He says there’s big folk around here who. . . go after small folk. He says I should be careful and not go anywhere alone.” Kìli looked ill and Thorin felt a tingle of dread in his spine. 

“Kìli, did Bilbo mention anything--” 

“No, he says nothing happened, but he says there were close calls.” 

Thorin’s skin prickled and his gorge rose. He knew brigands frequented Bree, but he refused to entertain the fear that gripped him. He glance at Dwalin. 

“I’ll gather the others and we’ll piece together what Mister Baggins isn’t telling us.” Dwalin said. He clapped Thorin on his shoulder. “Our rooms are secure and this’ll be the last inn we’ll be staying at for a while, we’ll not let fear spoil it.” 

 

Later, after  the others had finished reprovisioning, all thirteen dwarves sat around a large table in one of the private chambers of the main dining room. The fire was lit to keep the early spring chill from the room. 

“If I hadn’t known better, I’d have said he was just like any dwarf around Big Folk. You should have seen the way he handled that print shop owner.” Dori said, sipping tea. 

“I thought he was going to go over the counter at the man. I didn’t know Mister Baggins had it in him.” Ori chimed in. 

“So he’s brash,” Gloin muttered around a tankard of ale. He was the only dwarf imbibing at the moment. The brother’s Ri had a large teapot in front of them, but many of the dwarves had chosen not to imbibe any drink. 

“It’s not just that he’s brash, he’s defensive.” Nori uttered. “He’s watchful. Couple that with the warnings he was giving Ori and well... “ The thief looked down the table and caught Thorin’s eye before shifting uncomfortably. 

“Nori,” Thorin said, “say what is on your mind.” 

“He’s been attacked. Don’t know how far it got, but he’s none too happy with big folk in this town. Some of it’s the brigands and the mercenaries that wander about. But that ain’t the whole story. He purposely avoided the hobbit shops, and no matter how he seemed to hate dealing with the big ones he chose them every time. The only one time he acted like hisself was when we stopped by the dwarf blacksmith to check on shoes for the ponies.”

“Thorin you need to tread carefully here,” Balin said. “If Mister Baggins has been attacked, and that is just inference on our part, he has not made mention of it and you cannot go to him.” 

Thorin cursed, felt his anger rising. For all he was aware Bilbo had been harmed, molested while visiting Bree. Why had he been travelling without protection? And if he had such protection why hadn’t they helped him? Thorin had too many questions, he didn’t need his family reminding him of his duty. “I know, Balin. I haven’t spoken to him in days.” 

“And keep it that way. He’s still not in any state to talk that we can tell. He’s not the most open of sorts.” Balin muttered. “We don’t need another disaster like last week. You both are hurting, and I know you wish to talk to him to drag out whatever might have happened here. Please don’t.” 

Thorin clenched his fist around the cheap tin cup and felt it bend under the pressure of his fingertips. He took a steadying breath and released the cup before causing further damage. 

“If he has been hurt here then it is my fault.” 

Dwalin snorted. 

“Ye’ve got enough blame already, Thorin. Don’t start taking on the blame of brigands and thieves,” Dwalin chimed in. “‘Sides, Mister Baggins has been travelling this area for several years, whatever may or may not have happened, he seems to be taking the proper precautions.” 

“You change your mind about him fast.” Thorin growled. “If I had come back, he wouldn’t have had to travel this road alone, he wouldn’t have had to learn to take those precautions.” 

“And he would have been the sorrier for it. You’d have kept him in the dark about protecting himself?” Nori asked from the other side of the table. “I don’t know much about much about you royals, but seeing as your sister could take half Ered Luin in single combat, think she’d have something to say about you coddling your One.” 

The table erupted with arguments flying back and forth and there was more than one spilled ale and cup of tea amongst them before Thorin yelled for silence. 

“I _t_ _ried_  to teach him.” He bit out into the quiet, glaring at them. “I _tried_ to show him our ways.” He sighed. “He didn’t like violence as he put it, and after that winter I couldn’t - I wouldn’t force him.”

“So,” Dwalin said softly. “In a way because you left, he had to grow up.” Dwalin held up his hand to stop Thorin. “He did, Thorin. He had to figure out this world without you there as a buffer, and I’m not saying that was the best way to go about it. But you coddle. You tried to coddle your sister, you’ve doted on your nephews when possible and we’ve all sheltered them from the world.” 

The boys grumbled quietly but likewise knew not to interrupt Dwalin when he spoke.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, you would have been content to coddle him and he’d have been content to let you. All accounts of a happy union. That is, until some upstart Longbeard from Ered Mithren decided to attack him because he’s not a dwarf. He’s aware of the wider world now Thorin. And he’s grown up and learned to take care of himself, at least around Bree.” Dwalin finished and took a swallow of his ale. “As for my opinion changing… he made sure to warn Kìli of the danger around here. And the rest of the lot have said the same, he seemed to go out of his way to make sure the rest were safe. Odd behaviour when we’re supposed to be his protection.” 

“Speaking of the hobbit, where is he? Why has he been left alone?” Thorin asked and stood. He was at the door with Dwalin quick on his heels. 

“He’s safe in his room,” Dwalin said as they hit the stairs. Dwalin grabbed his shoulder and pushed him against the wall. Thorin struggled, but Dwalin tilted his head. “I can and will drop you. You’re not thinking straight Thorin. Ye can’t around him.” 

“He’s alone upstairs in a place where we’re certain he’s been attacked before and you want me to think straight.” Thorin ground out between clenched teeth.

“And if you go bursting into his room now all in a lather, what do you think he’ll do? You think he’ll be all happy to see yer mug of a face after all the shit you’ve said to each other? He might be coming around to us, but he’s still angry with you. I’ll go check on him.” 

Thorin closed his eyes and cursed again that he had to follow this ridiculous law. That he was being held to a higher stand than anyone else who’d pulled the same stunt. Eventually he nodded and Dwalin let him go. 

“Cheer up, you’re a brooding sod even when you’re happy. He’s coming round. Just give him time.” 

Thorin thumped Dwalin in the arm. “I’ve been giving him time. I’ve given him a week.” He shook his head, tired suddenly. “Does he know you’re sharing his room?” 

“Not yet, thought I’d tell him when I went to fetch him. He doesn’t need to know I’m in there so you won’t do something stupid.” 

“You’re in there to keep him safe.” Thorin said, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. 

“That too. Now stay out of the way if you’re going to listen in.” 

Thorin pushed past Dwalin, went into his room across the hall, left the door open a crack, and leaned against the wall. He could hear Dwalin chuckle as he thumped hard on Bilbo’s door.  _ Don’t terrify him you great lump,  _  he thought.  

“Uh, just one moment!” Bilbo’s call was muffled through the doorway and Thorin could hear furniture scraping across the rough wooden floor. 

“Tis just me, Master Baggins.” Dwalin said. “You and I are sharing a room.”

“Dear me,” Bilbo opened the door and it squeaked on its hinges. “I assumed I would be sharing with Ori or someone else. I apologize.”

“No need to apologize Master Baggins. In fact, I apologize in advance, my wife says I snore loud enough to wake a mountain.”

“That’s no trouble at all, Mister Dwalin, I don’t mind a bit of snoring, and if the company felt it best to save some money who am I to say otherwise.I was just about to have food brought up would you care to join me? Or am I keeping you from your companions?” The relief Thorin could hear in Bilbo’s voice made his knees weak and he had to steel his resolve not to go out and pull his hobbit into his arms. Even if he was still angry about their words last week. Something had hurt and frightened Bilbo in Bree, enough so he was happily accepting sleeping arrangements with a dwarf who made no secret of his dislike the last week.

“Actually, I was wondering if you’d like to join us downstairs. We number so many the Innkeeper has shoved us into one of the private dining rooms.” A pause. “There’s some benefit to being nothing more than dwarves.”

“I can’t say as I’m disappointed that we have our own dining room. The rabble that likes to frolic in the main hall isn’t much better than thieves and brigands anyway. As for you being ‘nothing more than dwarves’ despite introductions you and your kin have been kinder than most.” A longer pause. Thorin’s heart quickened. “I thank you for that, truly.

“Is Kìli sharing a room with anyone?”

“Aye, he and his brother and uncle are sharing a room, and the others have divvied the rooms up so that no one is alone tonight. Fear not, Master Baggins, we’ll be quite safe here.” 

Thorin waited until their footsteps disappeared on the stairs, splashed water on his face to cool his heated cheeks and hoped he could reign his emotions in for one night. He just needed to make it the one night and then they would be on the road, and there would be no closed doors and no time for weakness. 

 

*

 

With the town behind him, Bilbo finally felt he could breathe properly. It was always this way when he left the boundaries of the Shire and Bree. Most hobbits felt comfortable either safe at home, or travelling from Inn to Inn with hot meals readily available and comfortable beds at night.

Bilbo was not such a hobbit. Hadn’t been in quite some time. He’d lost his taste for such things after years of poor service and stolen goods. Plus one attempt on his life that ended with the Man losing several fingers. He preferred sleeping on the ground out in full view of the stars where brigands were more honest about their thievery.

Now they were a week out from Bree and were travelling abysmally slow; Thorin was doing it on purpose he was sure, no one travelled this slowly unless on purpose. They were under sky and nowhere near Hobbits or Men, that alone was enough to make him content. 

If it weren’t for the fact that Thorin was doing a bloody good job of ignoring him he’d have rather enjoyed this odd holiday. But no, the Royal Asshole was making quite a point of avoiding Bilbo, even going so far as to delegate orders through the other dwarves, or worse, molly coddle him as if he were too feeble to handle a watch.

It would have irked Bilbo, had he let it. But Bilbo was just not thinking about it, and most certainly not paying attention to Thorin the self righteous bastard. 

Bilbo was usually up long before the others, packed and ready to go. Sometimes he would sit and write in his book, notes from some of the plant species he had found on the road, or Kìli’s progress with the serum. It gave him a chance to observe the goings on of the dwarves, separate from it. They had their peculiar way of doing things. But everything he had seen, led him to believe they were very protective of one another and really very kind.

And yet he was bothered. Quite bothered. So much was going on around him that he didn’t understand. He was an outsider looking in on the goings on of dwarven lives. He was very much other. The separation was an itch he couldn’t scratch, and it was all Thorin’s fault. Bilbo may have over-reacted, his scalp was suffering. It had burnt in the midday sun days ago, and had begun to peel and itched abominably as his hair grew in. Above all that, he was constantly reminded that he’d lost the bead he’d worn. Bilbo wasn’t sure if he wanted to even wear it now, but dear valar he hadn’t meant to throw it out.

He’d gone looking for it when he’d finally calmed down. But it was nowhere to be found and he feared he had thrown it in the loo with the rest of his hair, gone and forgotten. Much like his relationship with Thorin, it now seemed.

They were well on the road on the eighth day from Bree when he finally pinned down what was truly nagging at him and he shifted his pony to ride next to Dori. That morning in camp had been like any other, including the bickering from the ‘Ri siblings. Rather, Nori and Dori were arguing and poor Ori was caught in the middle and looking like she wished the ground would swallow her whole. Most of their argument had been in Khuzdul before Nori stormed off into the trees yelling about nosy and irritating sisters.

“What can I do for you Master Baggins?” Dori asked primly.

Blibo blinked and his jaw worked soundlessly. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I apologize, I’m not sure if this is any of my business, but I was wondering if you were all right.”

The dwarf spared him a curious look. “I’m perfectly fine, Master Baggins.” Dori said, and Bilbo wondered if that’s all he’d hear from him. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just, I couldn’t help overhearing some of your argument with your brother this morning, and I understood very little but I wanted… that is to say I wanted to make sure you were all right after what he called you today.”

Dori laughed. “I’ve been called much worse by Nori in my time, Master Baggins. I’m quite all right I assure you.”

“Oh, that’s good then, I think.” He said and looked down at his reins contemplatively. They rode in silence for an interminable time, Bilbo staring at the back of Myrtle’s head as if it would unlock the secrets of the dwarves in his company.

“You don’t know Khuzdul, do you Master Baggins?”

“What? No, well. I’ve heard some words, but I was never told their meanings.” He said and felt his ear burn with embarrassment.

“So if you didn’t understand what my brother said, how did you know it was insulting? If I may ask.”

“It wasn’t the Khuzdul, as you are quite right I wasn’t aware that what he said was insulting. Just rather, I have heard all of the company refer to you as Mister Dori, and today your brother was quite obviously referring to you as his sister.” Bilbo winced. “I’m sorry if bringing it up is painful, I just wanted to know if you were all right. I know that kind of thing can be hurtful, and, well, I know you’re well used to siblings. I am dreadfully sorry, I’m prying, please pay no attention to me.”

Dori let out a chuckle. “Mister Baggins, I was not hurt by Nori using a different pronoun. I usually let people know when I’ve switched as I tend to go rather long between them. But my brother has taken it upon himself to let everyone know loudly so that there are no mix ups.” The Dwarf smiled. “It’s his way of showing he cares, even when he’s being an ass about it.”

Bilbo sat up straighter in his saddle and looked at Dori and smiled. “So you go by both?”

“Yes, Mister Baggins, my gender is fluid, as such I’m very comfortable with all of them. I do have instances where I prefer one over the other. For now, I do prefer female pronouns, and I’ll be sure to let you know when that changes, would that help?”

Bilbo nodded, and let out the breath he’d been holding. “Yes, that would be very kind of you, Mistress Dori.”

Again silence settled over them, though it was more relaxed than before, and Bilbo took the time to enjoy the Thrimidge sunshine.

“Mister Baggins, might I enquire as to why you assumed I would be hurt?” Dori asked quietly after some time.

Bilbo looked over to him and shrugged. “It was a common thing in the Shire. Amongst the older set. If I got out of line or tried to do something they thought I shouldn’t, they’d ‘Miss Baggins’ this and ‘Miss Baggins’ that until I was all out of sorts and had to leave.”

“They did what!”

Bilbo winced and watched as several heads turned to look at them, and Bilbo waved his hands, a placating gesture. Some of them turned back around, others, such as Bofur and their cousin Bifur remained attentive. “They don’t do it as often as they used to. I have also developed a lot thicker skin than when I was a tween.”

“Are hobbits truly unaware of such things?”

Bilbo snorted. “That’s a kind way to put it. Hobbits like their comforts, we are simple folk who prefer the pleasantness of a warm hearth, good food and good company. We don’t generally like a lot of fuss. The problem is, that when I told all and sundry I was a boy, it created a fuss. If there were others like me I didn’t know it, quite likely they were driven out of the Shire and moved away. As a consequence, Hobbits have been able to pretend that such a thing just didn’t exist. I’m the ant that spoils their picnic, a reminder that everything isn’t quite as it’s meant to be.”

“But you need to be yourself, Bilbo.” Bofur said suddenly. “Can’t live your life for others, my lad. Just leads to sadness.”

There was a loud snort behind them from Nori, but otherwise the rest of the dwarves were quiet.

Bilbo gave the dwarf a small smile. “That’s why I’ve spent as much of my time in Rivendell as I can. Each time I come home I hope it will be different. It’s getting better, there are a group of us now, and it’s much harder to ostracise a hundred hobbits than it is to do so to just one.”

Dori made a distressed sound and Bilbo looked over and noted the grip the dwarf had on his reins. “I’m upsetting you, I’m terribly sorry. Perhaps we should speak of other things?”

Dori cleared his throat and shook his head. “I’m quite all right, Mister Baggins. I just do not understand it. How they can treat their own kind so dishonourably.” Dori shot him a look that was pure steel. “I’ve come against my fair share of ignorance in my time, both for having the gall to be a dwarf and to expect fair treatment. I’ve understood Men to be ignorant and needlessly cruel, but I had thought it simply due to my race. To hear that hobbits have been cruel enough to ostracize one of their own... It sickens me. The world is a hard enough place to survive even with people to call your own. To not even have that surety.” Dori shook his head. “Nori says I’m too naïve about the world. Perhaps he’s right.”

 

*

 

“Are you sure we couldn’t go any faster?” he asked Bofur one day.

“Fear not, Bilbo, we’ll get there in time. Are you that anxious to be rid us, lad? Thought we were getting on.” Bofur grinned at him, and with their hat askew the dwarf had a look of unrepentant mischief about them.

“No, but this is Thrimidge on the Great East Road, and I don’t know if you’re aware, but it tends to rain a lot during Thrimidge. A good sprinkling does wonders for the garden afterall, but seeing as I’m neither at home to tend my plants, nor a plant myself I do not feel like getting rained on when there is no adequate shelter to be had.”

Bofur looked up at the sky, it was currently a clear  bright shining blue through the trees.

“Ya here that, Bilbo says it’s going to rain.”

That was met with a lot of well-meant laughter, but Bilbo grumbled and adjusted his packs so that his oil-skin was in easy reach.

It began to rain that night.

Bilbo did so enjoy being right. 

 

*

 

Sometimes, just sometimes, Bilbo hated being right. Four days into a constant rain, and now making way through a bog did that to a hobbit. It didn’t matter that he had an oil skin, by the second day everything he owned was damp or soaked through. The oilskin did nothing for him or for his belongings. Everything he didn’t wish to get wet was hidden away under his supplies in one of his boxes.

Ori however was having a terrible time as chronicler and was trying to keep a running log of things. The third morning of the rain, after realizing the hopelessness of keeping himself dry he walked over to the young dwarf and handed it to her.

“What’s this?” She asked looking at the oil-skin in her hands.

“It’s an oil-skin,” He started, but Ori’s face took on a bright red hue and he took an involuntary step back.

“If you think I need to be kept dry because I’m a girl, you’ve got another thing coming! Dori does this all the time, I’m part of this company and if getting wet is what happens so be it-“

“No nononononono, not that at all Ori. Your book though, it’s leather bound,yes? I’d hate to see it ruined because of this rain is all.” Bilbo said helpfully.

“Oh dear me! I am dreadfully sorry Mister Baggins!” Ori started and Bilbo had the terrified notion she might start crying.

He waved his hands in a placating gesture, or so he hoped, and patted her shoulder. “No really it’s all right. That thing is keeping no one dry in this stuff, might as well do someone some good.”

“Thank you,” she said and Bilbo found himself yet again on the receiving end of dwarvish affection. Dwarves and hugging, dear lady there was nothing quite like it. He patted her shoulder again and helped her wrap the book tightly to keep it from getting any wetter.

“There, that should do it. When the rain finally stops we’ll make sure to dry it out, yeah?”

“Yes, this is to be Chronicle of our Quest. I should hate for anything to happen to it.” Ori said, laying a hand on the oilskin covered book. She looked up at his head and Bilbo scrubbed a hand through the short bristle, all it did was unleash a stream of water onto his face and down his neck.

“Y-your hair seems to be growing back.”

“Yes, and about bloody time too,” Bilbo said with a smile.

“Oh?” Ori whispered. “You want it to grow back?”

“Well, of course I do. Dreadfully glad when this whole business is over with.”

“That’s good, yes?” The young dwarf asked him. He didn’t know her very well, but that look of hope was unmistakable. Bilbo blinked and wondered what Ori was going on about. He had the feeling they might be speaking about different things, but blimey he was not about to ask. After weeks of refusing all helpful remarks from the dwarves about their customs, it seemed in bad taste to ask now.  

Bilbo settled on a smile and nod. “Yes, I should think so Ori. I had rather gotten used to the length it had been before, as unhobbitish as it was.”

“I thought it was rather nice, myself. Shorter than most dwarvish hairstyles perhaps, but it suited you.”

Bilbo laughed and shrugged a bit. “If you say so. But I’d never be able to keep up with dwarven hair styles. If I don’t cut my hair somewhat regularly I turn into a lavender bush.”

“I wouldn’t know Master Baggins, I’ve never seen one myself.”

Bilbo laughed. “I think there might be some wild ones growing once we leave the bog. But to give you an idea, it's nickname is ‘fathead’.” He mimed his hands on either side of his head.

She laughed. “We’ll just have to teach you to braid it right to keep it in check. That’s all.” She smiled brightly.  

Bilbo chewed his lip as Ori walked away. Ori was a sweet girl, but there was no way any dwarf was going to teach him how to braid. From the little he remembered Thorin telling him years ago, they were special, and part of who the dwarves were. Bilbo was not a dwarf, nor would he ever magically be one.

“I’m not sure that’s likely to happen, Ori.”

“Sure it is. I know you and Master Thorin are at odds now. But that’ll change in time. After all, he was willing to go all the way across Middle Earth just to bring you back to life. A little quarrel is nothing compared to fighting Mandos.” Ori looked ahead and let out a squeak. “They’ll leave without us if we don’t hurry Master Baggins.” She said and ran off to get her pony, leaving Bilbo dumbstruck.


	9. Dwarvish Travels speeds only Slightly Above That of Turtles

In the middle of the fifth straight day of rain the clouds broke and the sun shone. Everyone let out sighs of relief and they set up camp earlier than usual to get everything dry.

Kìli bounced around the camp, unable and unwilling to settle down. He flitted about the company helping Bombur set up the fire and the cookpot. It wasn’t that his attention was diverted, far from it. He could concentrate for longer now, didn’t spend nearly as much time feeling out of sorts or focused on the parts that were wrong. Of course they were still there, but every morning he thought his voice was getting a bit deeper. Master Baggins was kind about it and marked down each and every one of the things he said, and he plied the hobbit with questions every night.

He’d been on a new dose for the last two weeks -- double what Mister Baggins had started him on in Bag End. He was sure it was working. The problem was, he was so happy about it it made him a bit reckless. The others were losing their patience. After nearly setting Bofur’s hat on fire for the fourth time, Kìli wisely grabbed his archery gear and signed to his brother he was going hunting.

Walking in the woods was soothing, and something he enjoyed. He did a lot of hunting outside of Ered Luin, and the woods they were near were plentiful with fowl and other game. The silent forest and the focus required to hunt settled him, and after a couple of hours he walked back into camp with a brace of hare and four pheasant.

He handed them off to Bom and took a seat by his brother and thumped him on the shoulder. “Stare any harder nadad, and she might burst into flames.”

Fìli made a choking sound and smacked Kee upside the head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Kee snorted. “Of course you don’t. C’mon, it’s the first sunny day in a week. Might as well get her training again. Then you can stare at her all you want.” Kee dodged a kick as he got to his feet and ran over to Ori and Bilbo who were drying pages from their respective books.

“Hey, you up for training you two?”

Ori looked up and it was a wonder her eyes didn’t take up her whole head she babbled a bit and looked between Kee and Mister Baggins helplessly.

“Go on, dear, I’ve got a handle on this.”

“You too Mister Baggins. That’s a nice toothpick you have there but you’re going to need to learn to use it sometime.”

Mister Baggins gave him a look similar to one he’d gotten from Thorin when he overstepped. He gulped a bit.

“And what makes you think I don’t know how to use my ‘tooth pick’?”

He shrugged undaunted. “What’s the worst danger you could have in the Shire? Gophers? Fee and I can help you so you at least don’t stick yourself in the foot.”

Mister Baggins let out a derisive noise and turned back to the papers. “I’m quite all right, Kìli. I assure you I will not stab myself in the foot with my tooth pick. Now go on, the three of you, I’m busy.”

“Suit yourself, Master Baggins.”

Master Baggins hummed and he and Ori headed off to meet up with Fìli. “Ori, when you’re finished training with the boys, remind me to teach you a wonderful hobbit game of conkers.”

“Yes, Master Baggins!”

Kìli and Ori met up with Fìli in the clearing far enough away from the cooking to not earn the ire of Bom. It started simply enough, reviewing stances and proper moves with Ori. Both Kee and Fee had been trained from the time they could hold a sword. Ori had a lot to make up for considering how sheltered she’d been, but Fìli was a great teacher. Kee wouldn’t deny his brother that, he was patient and firm.

It just wasn’t having the effect that he thought it should. How hard was it to match two people up? If they’d kiss that’d solve everything. Kissing was brilliant, and Kee missed it, there had been some pretty girls in Ered Luin. Ori was sweet and wholesome, but too quiet and studious, definitely Fili’s type.

At least that’s what he assumed based on how often Fee would go on about her and those maps she made. Well if it was up to him, they’d get together. Dwalin had to be wrong about Fee being like stone. Sure, Fee never paid attention to other girls, but then uncle Thorin hadn’t either and he had a One. That must be it, his brother had a One and he was being too obtuse to notice.

With a careful mix of fighting and training, Kee made sure that Fee was always the one showing Ori new tricks and how to stand. They were doing well and even got into a practice spar to work on blocks. All it took was a bit of a nudge for Ori to lose her footing and her balance in one go. She took Fee down with her as he tried to stop her fall.

Kee had to bite his hand to keep from laughing. Ori lay sprawled on the ground underneath Fee, both of them breathing heavy. It was exactly like one of those romance novels his amad loved to read. This was too good an opportunity. Any moment, kissing would start.

Any moment now.

“You all right Ori?”

“Yeah I just slipped is all, grass must still be wet from all the rain.”

Fee bounced up on his feet. “Must be, here,” and held out a hand which Ori took and stood brushing grass and dirt off her trousers.

“Shall we go again?”

“Yeah, you were doing well with your footing there, just make sure to keep your back straight, if you’re too far forward that’s when you end up in trouble.”

Kee didn’t understand it, didn’t understand it at all. All the books said that his brother and Ori should have started snogging, forgetting everyone was around them. But no, they were still training. This was going to take work.

Later, long after supper was finished and they were on watch, Kee felt a fist drive into his leg. “Ow, hey what was that for?”

Fìli growled. “You know exactly what is was for. You tripped her you lukhalukh, there was no need of that, she could have been hurt. She’s trying her best, you don’t need to make her feel worse about not being trained.”

Kìli rubbed his leg and most certainly did not pout. “I wasn’t making fun of her nadad. Is that what you think?”

“Why else would you trip her then?”

“Oh I don’t know, maybe because a certain brother of mine has been pining after her for more than two years?”  

Fìli shook his head. “I’m not pining after her. She’s brilliant. She’s also way too shy and doesn’t think she has a lick of talent. So you going behind her and pushing her down wasn’t right.”

Kee shifted uneasily and tossed a stick into the fire. “I know you nadad, you’re sweet on Ori. You can talk to me about these things. I know I’m younger, but adad told me all sorts of things. I know he says you’re like stone but he’s wrong, right?”

Fìli let out a groan and slumped back against the tree branch. The only sound in the camp was the crackle of the wood in the fire and the snores of the company. “Dwalin’s right, Kìli. I’m very much like stone. And before you say it because I know where that look is going to get me, I’m not like indâd either. He knew by my age he had a One. I don’t.

“Oh come now, don’t be feeling sad about it. It’s not like I’m alone. I’ve got more than enough family, and I’m happy with my craft and my duties to become King one day. I plan on having you there nadad. And if I can break her out of her shell a bit, I want Ori as my advisor.”

Kìli sighed. “We share everything, Fee, but this, I’m not always going to be here, Fee. I want to get married someday, I want to find a pretty girl and fall madly in love with her and have adventures, and sex, and lots of babies.

“But I also wanted to share those things with you.” Kìli shifted uncomfortably as Fee leaned against him.

“Then share them with me. Just because I don’t want them doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear about your adventures. When you find the right girl for your first time I want to hear all about it.” He held up a hand. “Wait let me rephrase. I want to hear all about it until you take your pants off. Even if I wasn’t like stone I wouldn’t want to hear about that. But the rest of it, yeah.”

Kìli stared directly at the fire and winced. “About that…”

“When?” Fìli asked shocked. “I thought we told each other everything.”

“We do, but adad said you might not want to hear about it, that it might make you uncomfortable. So I just never said anything.” Kìli said and chewing his lip.

“You know he said that because you’d go into detail right? I don’t really need to know how perky her breasts were.  That first time you were sweet on someone you went on about her eyes and her beard for weeks.” Fìli tugged gently at a loose strand of Kìli’s hair. “No more trying to get Ori and I to kiss, yeah?”

“But kissing is fantastic, Fìli.”

“For you, for me it’s just weird. Also, it takes two to kiss, and I’m not about to just do something like that without knowing they like it too. Ori could be like stone as well. Wouldn’t that be awkward with all your interfering.”

Kìli flopped back against the log they were sitting on and grumbled, it made absolutely no sense in his head. How his brother could not look at Ori and not want to see if she was as soft as she looked.

“I see that look,” Fìli said. “Don’t even think it. This is her first real adventure outside of the mountain. The last thing she needs is Dori or Nori getting wind that you’re about to make a move on her. The whole thing will end in misery. You’ll get over the bruises fine, but she won’t.”

“I wasn’t going to do anything.” Kìli muttered and shoved Fìli. He hated when his brother could pick up on what he was thinking; he was entirely too good at it. “Besides, if Dori is as traditional as she’s rumoured to be, then Ori’s the one that has to make the move, right?”

Fìli let out an impatient sigh. “This quest is too important. Both for Indâd and for you. With the tension thick as amad’s porridge because of Indâd and Master Baggins, and between the Ri’s and the Ur’s, there’s no need to further that with more from the ‘Ri siblings and our family. 

“This entire quest is just a dysfunctional love nest. You really want to add your lot into that?”

Kìli shook his head forcefully. “Mahal no. I’m still not sure what’s going on between the others. Not sure if I want to know.”

“Happened when we were still dwarflings, didn’t get the full story, but there’s a lot of road between here and Erebor. I’m certain we’ll find out about it soon enough.” 

 

*

 

“Why haven’t I been assigned a shift on the watch?” 

Thorin looked up from packing his pipe to see Bilbo, arms wrapped around his chest and his eyes were some approximation of steely. Thorin knew that look, had seen that look several times when Bilbo had gotten something into his mind and thought others were trying to block him. At one time Thorin might have called the look petulant. No longer, there was more iron in Bilbo’s posture now. Thorin continued to clean out his pipe and waited to see if Balin or the others were going to intervene. 

Bilbo cleared his throat. “I asked you a question. Are you going to continue to ignore me?”  

“I wouldn’t think you would want to.” Thorin said neutrally. He struck a match and lit his pipe, looking around for the others. They were on the other side of camp, none of them paying too much attention to Thorin or even Bilbo it seemed.  

“I’ve survived a great many things you’re unaware of. The Shire has changed a lot since you left. Bag End is now the place to be. I get all sorts of company now.”

“I am pleased that you have flourished so in the Shire.” Thorin suppressed a smile, The thought of Bilbo picking up hunting or winning the midsummer races was a cheering thought. So much better than what he feared. 

“Oh yes, it’s absolutely charming now. Feasts and parties and dances and suitors. Pleasant days in the market, good friends coming to call at all hours.” 

“I know that you--- I am glad to hear that.” Thorin replied. 

Bilbo let his hands fall from his chest and rest against his hips. Although it stung to hear about suitors, he was glad that Bilbo was being accepted again. Perhaps his worst fears had been completely unfounded. Hobbits were a simple folk, it might have been difficult to change their thinking but these things were simple once anyone thought about them for even a moment. The hobbits had finally come around, that was good. Much faster than Men it seemed. 

“There are plenty of choosers now, just past one hundred, so obviously all of those problems have been cleared right up.  The best of it is that everyone is so warm and accepting and forgiving of each other. No one in the Shire would ever think to bear a grudge, and certainly not for any longer than it takes to set the kettle back to boil. The Shire isn’t like that. Too soft and plush to hide any thorns.”

“I did not know it had changed so much.” He said quietly. He opened his mouth to say something else, to offer an apology for not being there but Bilbo spoke up first. 

“You weren’t there.”

“No, and I-” A rock shifted nearby and Thorin caught Balin’s eye. The elder dwarf didn’t appear to move save for a subtle shift of his beard and Thorin snapped his mouth shut. 

“Mmm. Yes. Obligations. Responsibilities. It’s difficult to shy away from those when you have a family to protect and raise. I see that you had many who looked to you for support and comfort. How wonderful that you were able to be there for them.”

“My family has always been dear to my heart.” Thorin admitted. It was on the tip of his tongue to remind Bilbo he was part of that family, no matter how distant they had been, Bilbo had never left his heart. 

“Fortunately I had my own family to turn to after you-- after.” Bilbo’s voice was something he couldn’t pinpoint, it held all the respectability he was used to hearing from hobbits, it cloaked the anger well. It was different from the way he and Bilbo used to speak to each other. Bilbo had never hidden behind that gentility when they were speaking. Maybe he was mixing it up, seeing too much into things when all Bilbo wanted to do was talk.

“I owe them much.” He whispered. Mahal how he wanted to be there for Bilbo. Thank the Maker he had family and he hadn’t been alone. 

“Oh certainly. They did what you could not.” 

Bilbo turned and walked away before Thorin could say another word. It hadn’t been the most pleasant conversation, but it had been their first. There had been no yelling, and Bilbo hadn’t been as bad off as Thorin had feared. He let go of the breath he had been holding. At least if Bilbo decided to leave their company after Rivendell he wouldn’t be alone. It was all he could ask for. 

 

*

 

He wanted to know what in the void was going on. He’d had his chance to ask Thorin when he’d confronted him, but anger and fear stilled his tongue and he reached for another thing that had been bothering and brought up the watch schedule instead. 

Somehow he ended up trading barbs, prettily covered ones under the guise of Hobbiton politesse. He wanted to rip that pipe out of Thorin’s hands, break it, and make him talk to him, not hide behind that wall of his. He’d seen well enough that Thorin was watching the others; had known when Balin had gotten closer. 

He left the camp, stomping through the underbrush until he was well away from the camp and spent the better part of an hour practicing with his dagger. It did nothing to settle his mind but it did settle his temper some. 

The dwarves let up a cheer when he arrived back at camp with a passel of rabbits. He brushed off their curious glances. 

“Did ye fall down a rabbit hole there, Bilbo?” Bofur asked. For his questions, Bilbo handed him several rabbits, but said nothing, and took a seat near Bombur to clean and skin them for the pot. The gruesome task kept his mind occupied and then there was only room to think about food and sleep.

For the fourth night in a row, Bilbo had gone to sleep with Ori’s words echoing in his head. He hadn’t been able to get any more information from her, nor had he had a chance to get her alone long enough to explain herself. Fighting Mandos? What in the void was that all about? Bilbo wasn’t dead, and what did him being dead have to do with going to retake Erebor anyway?

The longer he thought about it, the worse he felt. The more his mind turned to the letters hidden in the bottom of his pack. Did they explain things? Did it even matter if they did? Thorin had moved on from him. He was a King of dwarves for Valar’s sake he didn’t need some backwater hobbit dragging on his coat tails.

Each time as the camp settled down to sleep, he would curl up in his coat and bedroll and stare at his pack as if trying to read them through the leather. Thorin hadn’t come back, he was a king, and he didn’t want a silly hobbit. The one letter he did read had made that abundantly clear. Ori was a writer and fanciful little girl who was swept away in a romantic notion. The problem was she couldn’t have gotten it from just anywhere. Ori was very particular about how the ‘Chronicle of Thorin Oakenshield’ was to be written. If that were true, her remark of going on the quest to bring him back – bring Bilbo back – from the dead was also true. And what did that mean.

He found no answers in waking life, and even fewer in the brief bursts of sleep he’d manage in the wee hours before dawn. That night they camped on an outcropping of rock, protected from the winds on one side. Bilbo managed to open his bedroll and settle by the fire with all intentions to help Bom with supper, but another day on pony back and too few nights of sleep left him exhausted and dozing before the fire was even set up.

It was bitterly cold on the hill. The wind whipped around his bare legs and he pulled the blue robe tighter around him, burying his face in the dirty fur along the collar. It was too big for him in the arms and shoulders and yet barely covered his protruding middle. He didn’t have time to figure that out, someone needed him.

He had to get there, he had to warn him, he had to save them. Others were on their way, but he had to get there first, just had to get there first. A scream rent the air and he ran as fast as he could over broken stone and snow. Bilbo felt a twist in his heart and his stomach gave a painful lurch, he pressed a soothing hand to his belly. He took a deep breath and tried to keep his feet moving, leave it to him to have a dwarven pregnancy.

“This is all your adad’s fault. Now let’s go rescue him so I can yell.”

A chorus of horrifically ecstatic shrieking pierced the air and Bilbo grit his teeth and continued to move, hoping he wasn’t too late.

 

*

 

Bilbo was acting different. The last two days had seen Bilbo become sullen, withdrawn and watchful. The distance was getting too much. To be so close to Bilbo and yet not be able to speak with him, even an argument to clear some of the tension that was building between them. How in Mahal’s name were the laws making this any better? 

Their brief conversation nearly six days ago was nothing more than a fading memory. Just enough that hope could flare in his breast, but not enough to keep the flame going. Since he could not initiate any conversation, Thorin was left to observe. 

Balin retold Thorin’s deeds at Azanulbizar, and the night following, Bilbo broke his silence. Thorin was seeing to his pony when the hobbit came up behind him. 

“You never told me.” 

Bilbo’s words were clipped, bitten out. Thorin turned slowly, petting Minty’s side as he fed her some grain. “I never speak of that time.” Thorin said, knowing well enough what Bilbo was speaking about. “I have never told anyone what happened on that battlefield. I have never been able to.” 

“The others seem willing. I thought dwarves loved to share their exploits in battle.” Bilbo’s arms crossed his chest again, an unconsciously defensive gesture. He wanted to tell Bilbo he didn’t need to feel threatened by him, but he knew it would do nothing save start a fight.  

Thorin glanced around the camp; it was one of the rare times when he was not being observed by Dwalin or one of his relatives. He didn’t want their second civil conversation to be about this. He could tell Bilbo to leave and have done -- a great part of him wanted to do just that -- but that would mean he’d lose Bilbo a little more. Or he could speak about something that he had refused to share with anyone since it had taken place and relive those terrible memories. 

He took a deep breath, and released it slowly. “What occurred on the battlefield of Azanulbizar was not anything to be proud of. Our numbers were few. Dwarves from all seven kingdoms had gathered under my grandfather’s banner to reclaim our lost home.” 

“I thought Erebor was your home.”

“It is. Was. Erebor is but one of the many homes that have been taken from us. Erebor was not the first to be lost to the whim of a dragon. Ered Mithrin in the north was lost for a time, but our strongholds remain scattered. Gundabad was once a holy site, before orcish forces took that from us.  Gabilgathol and Tumunzahar sank into the ocean at the end of the first age with the War of Wrath. Khazad-dûm was lost to a foul creature known as Durin’s bane.” Thorin continued. “And then Erebor was lost to us. We were scattered to the wind. My grandfather laid siege outside the gates of Khazad-dûm. For every dwarf life taken we destroyed four orcs and yet it wasn’t enough. 

“We won the day, but the creature still lived inside the walls of our befouled home.” 

Tears stung at his eyes and he could not raise his head, only stare at his hands. 

“I lost so many that day. We lost so many dwarrow. I watched as that Orc cut my grandfather’s head from his body. It laughed as it threw my grandfather’s head into the crowd of us near the gate.” Thorin whispered, his hands felt stained with his brother’s blood to this day, no matter how hard he scrubbed he would never be rid of it. 

“But that wasn’t the worst part. Yes I fought against the Orc. I had thought that had done it, that we would see the end of all the pain. But when I looked around my father had disappeared. Swallowed up by orcish forces. Hopefully he died --”  His breath was ragged in his chest and he tried again. “Hopefully he died quickly.”

“A messenger arrived as the light faded, they couldn’t find my brother. He’d been with my father’s vanguard and had separated, routing orcs from around the lake.” He couldn’t stop seeing Frerin’s body lying on the banks of the mirrormere, and he couldn’t stop the words that left his lips.

“I found him.” 

“I found him lying on the ground bleeding out into the lake. It didn’t matter how much I screamed, no healer was close enough and it was too late. My brother died in my arms that day.” His hands shook and Thorin closed his eyes to banish the image of the blood on them. “So many dwarves lost loved ones that day. I’m one survivor with the same tale as them all. I don’t share mine because I cannot put my grief above that of my kin.” 

Bilbo let out a derisive sound and Thorin looked up sharply. He expected anger and a sneer to go along with the sound he heard, but Bilbo’s eyes were haunted and glassy with unshed tears. 

“What a pair of dysfunctional idiots we make.” Bilbo whispered. “Too wrapped up in our personal pain to see that sharing might have helped, once.” He took a breath, short, cut off like his binder was pinching. Thorin opened his mouth to say something but Bilbo shook his head. “I’m sorry to make you relive that. That was rude of me, excuse me.” 

Bilbo left before Thorin to stop him, but not before the tips of his fingers glanced across Thorin’s palm. Their heat burned a trail in their wake and against his wishes, hope flared brighter in his chest.        

 

*

 

Deep in third watch, Thorin wrapped his cloak tighter around him and tried to banish the memories that threatened to drown him. The fire had banked low and only the soft red glow from the last of the embers cast any light on the camp. He sat with his back against the campers and looked out into the deep night, watching and waiting for any signs of raiders. He had heard them far off in the distance some time before. 

The night was still now, only the sound of owls in the trees, and the soft contented snoring of his family accompanied him. 

“So you told him of Azanulbizar.” Dwalin shifted on the rock and Thorin could feel his brother’s well meaning but too direct gaze bore into his back. 

Thorin grunted. “None of you stopped me.” 

“You have never, in the last one hundred and forty years, spoke to anyone about what happened on that field. If you think for one moment I was going to let anyone interrupt the two of you, ah well ye dinnae know me very well at all then.” Dwalin said softly. 

Thorin glanced over and saw the small sad smile on Dwalin’s face and he shook his head. “I told him too much. You saw his face, and he barely ate. I hurt him. Again.” 

“The only hurt you caused him tonight was pain for you. He was moved by your story, and perhaps angry with himself for prying. You’ve got a funny One there, I grant you. But he’s coming around.” 

“Stop giving me reasons to hope. He hasn’t gone to Balin or Glòin to rework the contract. He is still leaving us when we reach Rivendell.” 

Aye, and you’re not faring any better I see. For Mahal’s sake, please just borrow a carving knife from Bifur and make _something_.” 

“It doesn’t work like that and you know it,” Thorin whispered. “If he accepted me, this would stop.” 

“Is it getting any better with him nearby?” 

“Some.” Thorin said and looked down at his hand. He traced his blunt fingertips along the same path Bilbo’s had taken earlier in the day and his heart fluttered. It felt so fragile, barely beating. He let out a sigh. “I still said too much. He didn’t need to hear of my finding … Well, he didn’t need to hear that.” 

“I think he did. I think he needed to hear exactly what happened on that battlefield. I think he needed to hear how much that battle cost you.” 

“Why… why should I torture him with it? It happened ninety years before he was born. Before even his parents were born. It is ancient history to him.” 

“It is not to you. Aye we’ve all lost many people from that horrific bloodbath. But you not only your own pain, but everyone else’s as well. I watched you, Thorin. I watched as you took the pain and grief of losing Thror, and then Frerin. Of not being able to find Thrain. I watched all of it. And still you kept taking. You shouldered the pain for all of us.” Dwalin whispered in the dark. “Your sister did too for a time. What with her singing and mourning. But she found happiness, and she was strong enough to find it again in a pitiful sod like me. 

“There was a time when I thought you were finally able to shed that pain. Finally able to let it rest in the past where it belonged. I know now that it was because of him, he helped you see that there was a future, and not just a slow trudge to the Hall of our Maker.” Dwalin cleared his throat. “So, if sharing with him the gorey details of that battle is what it takes to start you two talking; if it helps you to put down the past and start seeing that there’s more to life than endless drudgery and torment. I’m all for it. A bit of pain now is better than watching it slowly kill you.” Dwalin let out a sigh. “I’ve been watching that for the last hundred years. I’m not losing my brother on this quest.” 

Thorin couldn’t speak, and as Dwalin got up he reached out and squeezed his arm tightly. “I’m trying. I promise you, I’m trying.” 

“I know that. Patience, things are looking up between you two. You had an entire conversation and neither of you yelled or tried to stab one another. That has to count for something.” 

 

*

 

The following evening Kìli hovered around Bilbo as he prepared his bedroll and took out his supplies. “Did you want something Kìli?” He finally asked after settling everything by the fire. Kìli fidgeted in place and looked around at the others before looking back at Bilbo. The hobbit smiled. “Take a walk with me, we’ll gather firewood for Bom’s cookfire.”

They left the circle of the camp and headed into the woods collecting dry sticks and branches big enough to start the fire. Bilbo waited, figuring that if he were silent Kìli would open up soon. He remembered being that curious in the beginning, but not sure how to proceed.

It took the young dwarf several moments but eventually he found his footing. “Is it supposed to be like this?”

“The serum?” At Kìli’s eager nod, Bilbo continued. “For the most part yes. Lord Elrond says for elves it’s a slower process, taking decades to see any real change, but they’re immortal and have decades to wait for the subtleties of this kind of magic. It took nearly three months in Elrond’s care before we figured out I needed double what elves took, and diluting it did nothing.” He set his bundle of twigs down. “The first change for me was just a feeling, I felt more myself. More confident not only in who I was but in how I felt about it. Up until that point I had assumed the elves were going to tell me I was simply sick in the head.”

“But you weren’t Mister Baggins.” Kìli said, insistently.

“No, I wasn’t, but the only hobbits that believed that were my parents. It wasn’t until I had a good month under my belt with that serum that I knew I was doing the right thing.”

“What happened after that? Were there other changes? And are they all so slow?” Kìli kicked at a tree trunk. “I thought it would be like a potion you know? Drink once and in the morning you woke up with a deeper voice and...” He waved a hand around his trousers.

Bilbo shook his head. “No, sadly it’s not that quick, green lady wish it otherwise. It’s a slow road even for the ‘fast’ method. There is good news though, Kìli. Your voice has been rough the last few days. Is your throat sore?”

Kìli felt his neck and shrugged. “Not really, just a little tight, feels weird to swallow, and if I’m not careful with the waterskin I end up coughing, why?”

Bilbo allowed himself to grin. “Don’t be surprised if your voice goes down a notch or two in the next two days. That was always a sign for me. My voice did such a rapid drop that by the time I got back home my da didn’t recognize it at all.”

“But you were happy right?”

“Blissfully, I sounded like the hobbit I wanted to sound like.”

“What about other things?”

Bilbo said back against the tree and puffed on his pipe. “Other things? Well, after a few months my body started with a few other changes, medically speaking Elrond said it was fat distribution and new muscle growth. To me it was also near chronic knee and joint pain that lasted for three months, and finally developing a paunch like my father. Shot up a whole ten inches. Hit three feet that summer. There were a few other growth spurts but never as big as that one. But I’m not as short as I would have been otherwise.” Bilbo tapped his pipe against the tree. “Is this not how it goes with the choosing stones?”

Kìli sighed. “I’m not sure how the choosing stones work to be honest. They just said that once I wear it my body will know what to do.”

“There you two are,” Nori said as he came into the clearing, Ori and Fìli, not far behind. Nori grabbed the bundles of firewood and handed it the other two. “There, now Bom can start supper.”

“But-“

“Off ya go, this is choosers talk.”

Ori nodded started back toward camp. “C’mon Fìli, they’re fine. Maybe you can show me how to use those swords of yours.” Once the others had gone, Nori took a seat on a fallen log and settled himself down comfortably before taking out his pipe.

“All right now then, where were we? That’s right, the stones. The other two could be here, but Balin and Oìn had Mahal’s luck and were born in the mountain, so neither of them had to go through puberty before getting a stone. So I imagine, Kìli, their descriptions and explanations were rather nice, waking up each more a little more different, yeah?”

Kìli nodded. “Yes, Oìn has always been really helpful, he said it would be slow at first but then one morning I’d just wake up and things would be, there.”

Nori laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “That hopeless Oracle. That’s all well and good Kìli, if you got the stone before you started puberty. It happens like that because it’s like getting a piece of mahal’s hammer and just kind slots in and puberty goes the right way.

“Unfortunately for those born after the dragon, this isn’t the case. We had to go through puberty without the stone. So things are more set in the bedrock.”

Bilbo blinked. “You didn’t get your stone in puberty Nori?” Bilbo asked and took a seat on the forest floor next to the star haired dwarf.

Kìli gasped. “No! That’s why you’re called the thief! I remember it now. You stole one. How could you? That was meant for another dwarf, Nori. I know it’s bad, but, to do that...”

Bilbo got to his feet and planted himself between Kìli and the other dwarf. “Now wait, what is going on? Kìli, calm down.” Bilbo grabbed Kìli’s wrist and for a moment it looked like Kìli was going to go through Bilbo to get to Nori.

“I didn’t steal it from another dwarf,” Nori said softly. “I didn’t even know what I was stealing. Now sit your royal ass down, please. Before you break something, namely your uncle’s hobbit.”

Focused as he was on Kìli, Bilbo ignored Nori until he was sure Kìli would sit down. He still ended up in between them, eyes on Kìli even as he settled down by degrees. 

“How could you not know what you were stealing? That makes no sense.” Kìli asked, mulish. 

“It does make sense. I had gotten in with the wrong sort, but at that time I didn’t really care. I was reckless, foolhardy, and quietly trying to kill  meself on the road so Dori wouldn’t have to bury me.”

Bilbo and Kìli let out pained noises and both looked over to the dwarf. “Don’t look at me like that. I know what would have been my fate. But I was desperate, didn’t help that Dori’s business wasn’t doing as well as he’d hoped and the mountain was getting worse. So I started stealing from Men. Made a real good living at it too. Then one day I found meself a pretty pendant, the stone was dwarf cut, but the setting was definitely inferior, like it had been prized from an old setting. Probably one of the things our people had sold off to eat back in the exile.

“Thought to myself, I could bring that back and some dwarf family would pay high price for an old treasure back. So I hooked the pendant round my neck and forgot about it until I got back to camp. By the time I got there it was too late. The gold came away easily enough but the stone remained stuck to my skin and it wasn’t going anywhere.” Nori shifted and he opened the top button on his coat revealing the red stone still affixed to his throat.

“Didn’t happen all at once, and I was petrified. None of my crew knew what it meant, and I had no idea. We’d heard stories of choosing stones, but while the richer dwarves had theirs, us poor folk couldn’t remember what one even looked like. I didn’t even know what was happening until I got home.

“And let me tell you, Kìli my lad you are in for an awful year. Worth it? Fuck yes, friend. Worth every bit of agony and pain. But I will tell you it’s like getting Mahals’ hammer right between the balls. And I mean that literally. I swear to the Valar that it felt like a hammer had been taken to my nether regions for weeks.” Nori took a puff of his pipe. “I’m just glad it was what I wanted, not the alternative.” 

Kìli paled and gulped. “It won’t be that bad will it? I mean even the elven way isn’t painful. And what do you mean alternative?”

“Those stones are just pieces of rock with some magic tucked in them, Kìli. They don’t have any sort of special knowledge of who wants to be what. They affix to the skin and away you go. So when I say I was glad it was what I wanted. I mean it.” 

Bilbo spluttered. “You mean… Are there really dwarrow who have had that choice taken from them by the stones?” Bilbo’s mind reeled at the thought and he shook his head to clear the dark images. “There are several reasons why I’ve only done the first part of the elven method, Kìli. The second part is long and grueling and sometimes very painful. At least that’s what they warn me about. They’ve only ever done one hobbit, so they’re not sure how my body will take the procedure.”

“What? So it’s all painful? What kind of fix is that?” Kìli’s voice squeaked and cracked and Bilbo shrugged helplessly.

“Nothing ventured, Kìli. Life is pain, and while it hurts to the void and back I wouldn’t change it. The morning I woke up and looked in a mirror and saw this, instead of Ori’s cute face looking back I cried.” Nori sighed. “A word of advice though, at some point your hips are going to narrow and shift. You’re going to scream like you’ve never screamed in your life, and you’re going to cry. You Durin’s are made of tough stock. But that, that was the single worst week of the whole thing. Course you won’t be in the middle of nowhere, with a bunch of cut throats. So there is that.”

Kìli didn’t say anything for a while, neither could Bilbo after Nori’s bald statement. They sat just listening to the sounds of the forest, the scent of supper and the nearby campfire hung in the air. Eventually Kìli found his voice.

“So I guess I have to wait for the stone to see anything then,” He said morosely. “The voice changes are nice Mister Baggins, don’t get me wrong. I really appreciate what you’re doing. But I was hoping for more… visible changes.”

“Oh I don’t know young one, your beard is finally starting to come in. that’s something at least.” Nori said with a grin around a pipe.

Kìli reached up and brushed his fingers along his beard and smiled, shyly. “There’s that yeah, but I was talking about something else.” He took a breath and Bilbo watched as he tried to wrestle with some point he wanted to make. “If I have to shove more rags down my trousers just to sop of the blood before it runs down my legs again, I’ll surely go mad. That, believe it or not , is not even the worst of it. It’s all the weirdness, like there’s something missing.” 

“Have no fear about your cycles, Kìli. Those will eventually stop, if we’ve got the mix right you’ll know with the next moon.” Bilbo bit his lip. “As for the rest, there’s some growth, it varies by person according to Elrond. I think  you’ll have better luck with the choosing stone. Lothlorien is supposed to take it further, but the serum does get it going.” 

Kìli blushed and nodded, his hair falling in front of his face. “I’ve been feeling different you know, down there. And I wanted to make sure I wasn’t imagining it.”

Bilbo shook his head. “No you’re likely not imagining it, Kìli. When we get to Rivendell, Elrond will know more.” Bilbo hesitated. “There’s more Kìli. You’re new to a lot of this, you’ve only been around dwarrow really, and from what I’ve seen you lot are remarkably accepting of things.

“I’m not sure if you got any of it in Bree, but there are going to be places we go where the townsfolk are not as open. Outright cruel in fact, and there’s a risk of being harassed at the very least. There are folk out there who are going to be more concerned with the contents of your trousers than you are.” 

Nori let out a snort. “Fear not Mister Baggins. That’s just the lot of a dwarf. Most of us have been asked what’s twixt our nethers more times than we can count.” 

Kìli spluttered. “I’ve never come across that, what in Durin’s name? Why does it matter? I mean I want to know… but it kind of means something to me. Not some stranger.” 

“You’re a sheltered princeling, Kìli my lad. Men especially have a weird obsession with treating people based on what’s in their drawers, and they don’t like that our women can grow beards. They think they’re being sneaky.” 

Bilbo nodded. “Hobbits are very similar. They don’t like it when someone tries to be other than they were born as.” 

“Mister Baggins, I’m really happy you’re helping me, but I’ll be even happier when I get that stone.”

Nori stood and let out a chuckle. “That’s half the reason anyone signed up for this fool mission lad. It’s high time we get those stones back into dwarrow hands and away from that dragon. No matter how noble your uncle’s quest to resurrect this one was.”

Bilbo squawked, and Kìli flailed as he tried to stand and hush Nori at the same time. “Now that’s the second time I’ve heard this. What is going on? Why did Thorin think he had to resurrect me? And why was he going to face a bloody dragon to do it?”

Both dwarves looked at him for several minutes and he was getting mighty tired of their appraising glances. Nori came over, tilting his head and ran his fingers over Bilbo’s short hair. “It’s time you talk to Oìn, Mister Baggins. He’ll have all the answers for you.” 

 

*

 

Bilbo was ready to pull his already short hair out by the root if he didn’t get a straight answer from a dwarf in the next five minutes. The problem was, he couldn’t locate the dwarf in question to speak with. Oìn had gone off hunting herbs and didn’t return until after Bilbo had finally gone to sleep. The next morning it had been more of the same with Bilbo in the back of the company and Oìn near the front.

They were finally nearing more familiar country and Bilbo could almost smell Rivendell, they were so close. But he was distracted with trying to get that confounded healer alone. It took the better part of the morning and several questions to others in the company until finally through a complicated mixture of their own language and whatever hand signals they used, Oìn dropped back in the party until they were alone at the end of the line.

“You wanted to talk, Master Baggins,” Oìn asked as the dropped back from the rest of the group.

“Yes,” Bilbo said. His tongue wouldn’t work beyond that however and he didn’t know where to start and then he did. “What does cutting my hair like I did in Bag End mean to you?”

Oìn cleared his throat and looked at Bilbo’s head for a moment. “Ah, you’re finally ready. Well, it means a few things really, but essentially it’s called kharshukrat, or cut of greatest trust. Thorin did something that hurt you and you answered in kind by shearing your head. Now what complicates matters is that the two of you had been courting, and not just for a short period.

“Had this happened in the first year of courtship both parties would have separated equitably and gone their separate ways. But you and Thorin were courting for an extended period.”

“We barely courted for four months, and then he was gone.”

“Perhaps, but distance is not a factor in courtship, so it continued. After five years of courtship unless the courtship gifts are returned, the couple is assumed by law to be wed.”

“Wed…” Bilbo whispered and felt a shiver run down his spine. Of course dwarves would be this complicated. But what did that mean for cutting his hair and all that had gone on since?

“Aye, wed. It is none of my business, but I’m able to offer you council until you choose a representative. What was the reason for kharshu’ukrat, if I may pry?”

“Can’t you by my representative?”

Oìn shook his head. “No, I cannot, Master Baggins. I am an Oracle, and as such I am not allowed to take sides in matters of state. I am to be an unbiased party. Your representative should be someone who will speak on your behalf and for your rights.”

Bilbo groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose. “He never told me he was king. And when Kìli had told me, I thought … I don’t know what I thought, that he’d moved on and that I was a silly hobbit to get my hopes up with a King of all people.” Bilbo shrugged helpless. “My people had already shunned me, my own family had. When he left, I thought he had run away too, better to avoid the stigma of poor reputation. To find out he’s royalty just confirmed it.”

Oìn didn’t say anything for a while. “That is rather grevious,” He said quietly.

“But it was a childish reaction, Master Oìn. I was hurt and upset at the time. I’ve heard from others that his reasons for going on this quest was to – fight a valar for my soul – that’s pure fancy, is it not? And if it isn’t, what right do I have to him now that I’ve hurt him like this? If he thought I was dead, which is what I’m extrapolating, then what I’ve done to him with this, is worse than anything he’s done to me.”

Oìn patted him on the back in the same way all dwarves did, with a lot of gusto and hard enough he could feel his ribs move. “This is why representatives are necessary, Master Baggins. To help walk through this quagmire. Now, you’re still not allowed to communicate directly with Thorin about what transpired unless you have a representative.”

“What?” Bilbo yelled. Several heads turned and ducked down in his saddle and shot the nearest dwarf a look before looking over to Oìn again. “What do you mean I’m not allowed to talk to him?” He hissed. “We’ve been talking.”

“Aye ye have, and it’s been on subjects not related to the …” Oin’s eyes went up to glance at his scalp again. “I have some cream for that burn of yours.” 

“How do this help? How does not talking about what happened help anyone? I’ve been going around thinking he’s been pissed off and in a sulk because he hasn’t been talking to me. And it’s because of this law the entire time?” Bilbo huffed. “Thank you for the cream, it will help.” 

Oìn laughed and shook his head. “Oh Master Baggins, you’ll get to know Thorin’s moods soon enough, he’s not been angry all the time this last month. He’s been trying to follow the rules. He is King, and he has to lead by example.”

“Are you sure this wouldn’t be easier if he and I just sat down and spoke?”

“I’m quite sure, the last time someone decided to ignore protocols and eschew representation, it ended in so much bloodshed that neither family is on speaking terms with one another and the feud still carries to this day. They still haven’t fully recovered.” Oìn replied. Bilbo noted that he cast a glance toward Bofur. “Fear not Master Baggins, your best bet for a representative would be amongst the brother’s Ri. While the Ur’s are good folk they are married to the Durin line. My brother and I are cousins of Thorin’s, Dwalin is a brother in law, and Balin is acting as Thorin’s representative.”

“So that leaves Nori, Dori, and Ori.”

“It would seem. And while Nori would definitely get you what you want, he is a Thief and the means might not necessarily be legal and this needs to be above reproach. And Ori is much too young, though she might have a better understanding of the law.

“She can assist Dori, if that is your wish.”

Bilbo looked over to the two dwarrow in question and chewed on his lip.

“Take your time, Mister Baggins. We’ve a bit more road ahead of us. Once we get to this elven city of yours we can discuss it again, shall we?” 

“I think that would be best,” Bilbo said as he stared ahead. Just beyond the others he could see Thorin’s back, pin straight in the coat Bilbo and his mother had made for him all those years ago. Valar he was a fool, if he had just waited, things might have ended up so differently. He hoped he could salvage whatever was between them, even as he feared that he didn’t deserve such luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A ginormous and ridiculous thank you to Strife, because if it weren't for her, this fic would just never have seen the light of day. Not only that she's poked and picked at this fic with me until we could tease out the plot and make it the ridiculous thing you see before you. I could seriously not have asked for a better beta. That being said she's just as much to blame for the pain and heartache in this fic. :D
> 
> I really need to thank everyone of you for sticking with me. I wish I could promise faster updating and there may be a point when I can get the chapters out faster, but this is going to be a plodder even with having a lot pre-written. Pre-written I've since discovered only means more to edit. 
> 
> translations: 
> 
> lukhalukh -- tiny fool


	10. Welcome to the Black Parade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! This chapter is a bit different and I'm not sure if I should add the extra tags for graphic violence or if the current tags suffice. Let me know in the comments if the extra tag is necessary or if there are other tags missing. :D

“Shir riug Kom!” 

Snarls. A scent of blood. Crumbling stone sharp against flesh. Shards of stone underfoot, a stench of matted fur, the scrape of claws against granite. 

Faster. 

Run faster. 

Bend, dodge around teeth and claws. A prize, wet and hot. One. Two. Three bites. A void filled. More laughter. More growls. Claws against skin. Sharp stone against, a chill. Breath and stench. Teeth, drool. 

“All gones it is. All gones, all gones. Licked it up, and sucked it down.” 

A sharp yelp. Cold air. Laughter. “Mines now, all mine.” 

Wind howled, the dogs ran. Orcs fled. 

“Orcses always scared of winds.” 

Vines and thorns, piercing skin. Blood flowing. Sharp scrape of rocks along skin.

Hanging. Creepers, rotten stench, foul taste. Creeping, crawling past the tongue, tickling in the throat, along sinus, into lungs. Controlling air, controlling sound. 

Unblinking. 

Two cloaks. The Master. Beards. Rage. 

“We bring news. Oakenshield plans to retake Erebor.” 

_ Oakenshield. _

_Oakenshield. _ That name. Blood. Sweat. Fear. Waves of orcs, the high heat of summer. Doors just out of reach. A small child next to him. Too young. Much too young. Pain, agony, knowledge driven into him, warping him as he stares at his boy. 

Too young. His beard just coming in, and he stood next to Thrain, anger shone brightly in his boy’s eyes and he gripped his sword and fought off the scum as well as an warrior twice his age. 

_ Thorin.  _

His son. Thorin. They were speaking of him. Thorin was going to retake Erebor. He was leading their people. Pride and fear swelled within him. Panic shuddered at the edges of his conscious. Madness fought to reclaim his mind as the necromancer’s vines held him. In madness lay safety. The necromancer wanted him. Wanted what he knew. Thrain’s madness kept his son alive. 

The two dwarves continued to speak, telling their secrets to the necromancer, handing their people over to his evil. Handing his  _ son _ over to them.

Traitors.

Thorin was important. Thorin was his. Thorin. NO. They would not hurt his boy. They would not hurt his child. Thorin was a babe, too young to carry a sword into battle and yet there he was, shining in the dying light of day as he hacked into the Orc that killed their king. His father.

He struggled and snarled against the vines and looked frantically at the necromancer.

Did he suspect?

Did he know that Thrain was free?

Nothing in the shade’s manner suggested it. Thrain’s heart beat rapidly in his chest and his attention flitted back and forth between the monster and the traitors. He still wanted to kill them. Rip them limb from limb and suck the marrow from their bones. 

The taste of marrow was thick on his tongue and he looked up to his right hand and horror suffused his soul. 

_ Monstrous laughter followed him as he ran from the feeding den. Howls sounded and he gobbled down the bloody offal in three quick bites. Teeth and hot breath reached his neck and he let out a laugh as he was launched onto his back, a huge paw pressing down on his chest. _

_ Blood covered his mouth but the prize was gone and he would survive for another few days. He could pick at bones and suck marrow for a week if he had to. He laughed as she snorted her foul breath down on him, yellow teeth bared. _

_ As if he feared her. As if he feared anything living in this wretched place anymore. She couldn’t hurt him, only toy with him, and torment him with a show of her teeth and digging of claws. _

_ Once, he feared her. The first time he wrestled a liver from her jaws and she caught him much the same as this. He’d shit himself in fear as her claws dug into his chest and she broke his hand pulling the liver from his fingers. It took him many moons to realize she never ripped his flesh more than a few pricks. She was all bluff. _

_ The master still found him useful. _

_ He snarled, tired of her game and grabbed the large canine near his eye. He gave it a twist; the pain would be enough to get her off him. He heard a snap, felt claws dig into his and fling him away and the hot rush of blood over his hand. He looked down at the tooth in his grip and cackled. He jumped to his feet and danced around the refuse-strewn floor as she whined and snarled from the other side. _

_ An idea struck him and he gnawed a hole into the bottom of the tooth before jamming it over the exposed bone of his stubbed right index. Tearing a piece of cloth from his rags he tied it around tightly and waggled the morbid digit around. _

_ “My new finger!” He crowed gleefully. He bounced to his feet and danced around, taunting the warg more. “Yes you be careful, keep your guard or I shall have a whole new set of fingers.” _

The necromancer still wouldn’t let him die. Thrain’s magic had cut off all knowledge to protect his son and his people, and the foul magician had kept him around as a pet. The memories of his magic were few, the power lost to him. He never trained, never had a chance to use his powers to help others. He only ever used it to corrupt himself to save his children. All he remembered was the battle, the stink of sweat, blood and shit as he was dragged from the field, screaming as his mind felt as if it had been wrenched and twisted at the sight of his father’s body.

Thrain didn’t know what they were saying, couldn’t make out their words. He only knew beyond reason deep in his heart that his son was in danger. His children were in danger. Thorin was on a quest, that much was sure. He was going back to Erebor. The others had to be with him. Frerin never let Thorin go far without being close behind.

He had to get away. He yelled as the vines tormented him, cutting him their thorns. They sensed his need to escape to flee and tightened in response. Thrain had to be calm, he needed to calm down, stop resisting; they would depart soon. He’d be left on his own to be a chased by wargs who scented his blood.

 

*

 

He woke to the feel of cold stone against his face. He scrambled to his feet and spun in a circle checking the entrances waiting for the stink of warg to overwhelm him. He was scabbed and his rags hung on him in worse tatters. He scanned his surroundings and picked up his feet in a desperate run from the courtyard before someone came looking.

He needed to get away, his son was in trouble. The necromancer, his master was after Thorin; wanted him for Erebor. Wanted  _ him.  _ _Thrain felt an hysterical whimper lodge in his throat and he raced through the dilapidated keep dodging crumbling stone and the bones left behind from the meals of wargs._

The air changed as he rounded a corner and he hurried down the broken stone path. Something ahead caught his eye, something brown, and he charged faster. He sensed magic, old magic. One of the old ones, one of the protectors. They would see him to Thorin, they would get the message across.

Ice stole his breath and a hazy figure grabbed him about the middle. For a single moment he thought his master had found him and he knew death was approaching. A spectre's hand wrapped around his mouth aborting his scream as terror gnawed at him and panic descended. One of the Necromancer’s elite guard.

The figure in brown stepped onto the bridge and Thrain struggled as he felt he edge of a blade against his skin. The nazgul couldn’t pierce him. The wraith was still under orders not to kill him. 

He remembered now why the necromancer kept him alive. The magic to access the Tharkudammamâ was transferred from King to Heir at the moment of the King’s death. Frerin would have been inducted into the rituals as the right of an Oracle but Thrain retained the secret magic of Kings.

He’d used it to forget, to blind himself to the ravages of what the necromancer did to him; it protected his family. Kept him a puppet under the thumb of darkness but his children were safe. The necromancer always had a chance of torturing the information from Thrain; should he kill the dwarf the magic Thorin would inherit it all.

It’s what stayed the nazgul’s blade now; orders from their master to leave the dwarf alive. To keep him alive. But there were plans now, plans to hurt Thorin, to turn him into a puppet to make him one of the necromancer’s. Thrain’s life was worthless.

The nazgul hissed in his ear and he felt the threat in the edge of it’s blade. Thrain quieted as the figure in brown came closer. The others hovered around the figure. A simple farmer they would have destroyed. This one with her brown robes and dung encrusted hair was different. She held a staff in both hands as she looked around the desolated place and Thrain understood. She was like Tharkuna. She was another of her kind. His one chance to get out from under the necromancer was now.

Thrain struggled and fought against the wraith. The necromancer’s powers were flimsy when it came to them, they were not as solid as his other servants. He pushed into the wraith, and fell through it, against the cold stone. Thrain shivered, felt his gorge rise and nausea threatened to overwhelm him. He shoved it back and raced along the stones to his freedom.

The wizard was in danger. There were several wraiths closing in. Thrain had to get close, get them out of here. Out of the corner of his eye Thrain saw another figure, dressed in blue, another dwarf. 

_ Thorin , _ he thought and turned and followed the dwarf. He had to protect him. Rocks under his feet. Pain.

A sharp corner.

The colour blue ahead.

Screams behind.

He needed to protect his son. Thrain needed to focus. Focus on Thorin. Focus on the key and his son. He pitched and wobbled, unsteady as he walked over bones. Bones of Orcs, and wargs, bones of their meals from the villages of Men. His gut twisted with memory.

Bones between his teeth. Marrow on his tongue. Walk, one foot then another. Step, step, step, step. Snarling to his right. Turn left, down the stairs.

Blue against unrelieved grey. Sharp under his feet, blood in his hands. Tired. So very tired. Another corner. Vines against skin. Sharp under his feet, blood in his hands. Tired. So very tired. Another corner. Vines against skin. The prick of thorns in flesh. Scarlet on stones.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Otherworldly shrieks too close. High in the air. Surrounding him. Shrieking. Over and over and over. His child was in the wilds, surrounded by enemies. He wasn’t here with Thrain, he was out there, on the other side of the their terrible shrieking. 

Thrain pressed his hands against his ears and ran. He turned corner after corner, dodging vines, skulking around Orcs. The air changed and he ran faster toward the promise it offered.

The wizard was gone, if she had existed at all. Thrain ran across the bridge, cackling as his feet touched uncorrupted rock and not the dead stone of that horrid prison.

He was free. Free from the torment, from their pain, from the necromancer’s influence. A snarl sounded behind him and terror clutched at his breast. He let out a shriek of his own and pounded through the forest ahead of him.

More snarls and howls behind. Soil underfoot and trees all around. Lost. Leaves and the snap of twigs against skin. More noise behind. Sweat on skin and the stink of fear.

Claws in his back. Teeth against his neck.

“No! You can’t take me back! I have to help him. I have to save him.”

Wargs snarled around him, nipped at his legs, clawed his arms. The large one, the one he stole the tooth from, held him in her jaws, teeth pressed against his soft abdomen, a threat. A promise.

She spat him out in front of her master and Thrain climbed to his feet as the necromancer stalked close. An iron clad hand dragged him off his feet, his eyes boring into Thrain as foul magic crawled along his skin like spider legs. They burrowed into his skin and crawled through him.

Thrain screamed and tried claw his way free. The necromancer held his gaze and flayed his mind, peeled through him down to is core.

A terrible laugh rang through the courtyard and Thrain fell to the ground, his throat raw with screaming. Still he screamed more. It was drowned out by the howls of the wargs and yells of the orcs.

“Bolg, bring your mother here. She will have use again.” 

 

*

 

In the space of a moment and a ceaseless age, she was nothing. There was neither cold, nor heat. Darkness and light did not exist; only bare unrelieved grey. There was neither sound nor quiet. Everything was empty. She could neither tell where she began nor where she ended. If there were others, she could not perceive them; her senses were dulled, muffled. One moment she had felt the bitterest cold of winter, a hot wash blood on her tongue, and the promise of a fat juicy meal. Then, there had been a sharp stab of agony, the shock of sensation and nothingness.

She knew this nothing. She had felt it before; long ago in the dark pit with the scent of brimstone and gangrene around her. Feeling it again brought it back. Emotions were difficult to hold onto in the nothing. So she clung memories. She replayed the memories of her deaths again and again and again.

But it was not enough to keep the nothing at bay. Eventually the memories lost their strength. Became as insubstantial as smoke from a fire; bereft of significance. Without them to ground {Something}‘her’ they stopped holding meaning.

She floated. 

Lightning struck.

Memories coalesced.

Nothing.

Another strike. And another. Another. Again and again, lightning crossed her body. Memories and self came together, drawn by strokes of pain. The lightning travelled, throughout her being, from her chest and out, across and down.

She had form. She had substance. The lightning was the beat of her heart. The pain was the fire in her nerves. She could feel the cold stone of the floor. Smell the old city, it’s acrid odor as much homecoming as the sounds that ranged from the heights.

Her orcish brethren yelled, cheered her name and she opened one eye. Once again she wasn’t whole. A reminder of her failure from the Master. She regained her feet and inclined her head, hand over her breast to her master.

“What do you wish of me, Master?”   

“Oakenshield is heading to Erebor.”

Azog snarled at the name and her stump ached in memory. Foolish upstart dwarf. She would separate his head from his shoulders. She would kill everyone he loved and make him watch. She would destroy him.

Cold clasped around her heart, and it stuttered in her chest. She fell to her knees in front of the Master as he stood over her, his hand clenched in a tight fist.

“Your vengeance is not important to what I have planned,” the Necromancer hissed. “You will bring the dwarf to me. The rest you may kill, but I need the heir alive.”

Azog jerked her head in an approximation of a nod and let out a whoosh of air as the pain eased in her chest. Above the din of orcish cheers rose a maddened scream.

“You can’t! I won’t let you! I won’t I won’t I won’t. You will not kill my Thorin.” Azog felt magic bend around the dwarf and dissipate just as quickly, lost as madness returned. The dwarf hissed and snarled and took to gnawing on the boney protrusion from his index finger.

She picked up the dwarf, twisting her hands in his hair and pressing her stump against his throat. “I will do as my master commands. And then after he has been broken, I will down hunt your kin, one by one. I will end your line. And when our Master has what he wants, you shall bear witness your son’s mind turned craven under the power of the dark One. He won’t have your magic protecting him. 

“Perhaps then I shall be merciful and kill you, Son of Thror.”

The dwarf howled and Azog flung him to the ground. She snapped orders and her kin leapt to follow her bidding. Out of the shadows a warg stepped, her white fur shone in the moonlight and she came forward, rumbling deep in her chest.

Azog scratched under her chin as her saddle was fitted. Another orc, one of the messenger types, reedy without enough fat or muscle, relayed the information they had on Oakenshield’s movements.

“Send scouts to track him. We’ll take them once they enter the mountain.” She growled, rage still burned deep in her. She still wished him dead. Had she been anything less, her rage, her bloodlust could have overrun her sense. But there were plans in place. The Necromancer, her Master, was playing a long game, and she would see to it that it succeeded.

*

She hated watching.

Skulking in the shadows was beneath her, but Oakenshield had protection. The wizard was with them and their numbers were greater than anticipated.

A battle, even an ambush now would result in more orc casualties. They were travelling openly and crashed through the trees as stinking, filthy, dwarves did. The orcs in her charge were getting restless. Unable to think deeper or longer than their next meal they descended into useless bickering and petty fights when her back was turned.

Three weeks on the road and watching for signs of their prey and they had taken an unsuspecting pair of travellers. Azog stood away from the carnage and watched the camp across the ravine.

She stared across the way and watched a small creature flit about the camp in time with the howls in the valley below. She peeled her lips back in a cruel grin. It froze in place as pain lanced through her missing eye.

Old memories, belonging to another life, tried to break free. Rage threatened to overwhelm her control and she felt winter on her skin, a fat Halfling in her hand. Ice and metal stabbed into her eye and she grunted as memories returned in a tumult.

She cursed and turned away from the ravine.

“Change of plans,” She issued to her scouts. “We take them after they reach the bridge. Oakenshield must live, but the Halfling is mine.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> Tharkuna - Wizard 
> 
> Orcish  
> Shir riug Kom - Feeding Time
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your comments and kudos!! :D

**Author's Note:**

> Tharkhudammamâ -- Road of our Blood  
> Indâd - uncle  
> Adad - father  
> amad - mother  
> nadad - brother  
> namad - sister


End file.
